No weapons. No armor. Not even his own clothes. A few hours into the night, Guts can be found hunched over the too-small sink of his room, using opposite mirrors to take a look at the back of his neck.

The protective charm was gone. Vanished or washed out on arrival - it doesn't matter. It was a horrifying realization that cemented in the fact that he wasn't going to sleep that night. Even if he knew for certain he'd be safe, his body was all too used to the nightly ritual he'd done for two years. His eyes would stay peeled open until dawn, no matter how long he stayed in bed.

His fingers reach up touch the rune carved into his skin, wondering what the hell he was going to do now, until a shadow passes the corner of his eye. The New Hires' rooms had their doors left open, making it easy to see inside (and vice-versa). An all-too-attentive tension grips his face even as he recognizes the face of the man he spotted.