A priest of San Cristóbal who watched everyone at the ball too closely, the company most of all, and was found in the courtyard before dawn, half-eaten, his skull cracked from a fall he did not take voluntarily. The guard blamed the bear, briefly. The ghouls beneath the city knew better:
He fell. The shiny one came first.
The company went down after his body, and everything since has followed from that descent. He is the campaign's first casualty, and probably its first witness: he had been watching Kharkov with the particular interest of a man matching a face to a report. What he had noticed, and who noticed him noticing, remains unpaid business.