Wrath appreciates the quiet on the way. He needs to focus his senses better, and he finds that is getting difficult with the fatigue crawling its way through his bones. Is this really something mortals experience often when they are sick? What a frustrating affliction. He pauses in front of the house, staring ahead. He does not know where the man spends the most time, but he can make several guesses along with the use of those senses.

An office would be most secure on the top floor toward the inside of the house. There are lights on through the curtains, the sound of footsteps against floorboard - the sound of weapons scraping.

"One moment."

He lifts a hand and then hones in on the sound of a singular heartbeat - pages turning.

"Toward the back, top floor."