[The week wears on them all. He can't remember the last time he was committed to such a long excursion, or mission, even at the Earl's beckoning — back home at least he had the freedom to come and go as he pleased most of the time. He could hunt Exorcists at his own leisure to his own schedule, so long as the deed was done. In this place, on this frozen island, it feels like they're all prisoners waiting for the game to end. Tyki isn't excluded from that category. Fatigue was worn him to shreds alongside the cold, and as he walks the halls now searching nooks and crannies for signs of life, it isn't because he much cares for whatever supplies may still sit unclaimed.

He's in a bad mood, and he knows it. Perhaps his endurance wouldn't have been so challenged if not for the drain of simply existing here, but there's only so long he can spend in the Library before motivation pushes him onward. Motivation, and the weight of his own spirit, intertwined with something more than human. Something ravenous for satiation after too many close-calls without success.

The noise is a racket, loud enough to draw Tyki's attention immediately as if it's asking to be found. So he walks in, expression stony, tall and lean in formalwear, surveying the boy in front of him. (Are those... dog ears? Well, he's seen stranger.)]

Don't worry, I'm not looking for supplies. All yours.

[Gold eyes lower to the hourglass hanging around the boy's throat.]

I'll just be taking a bit of your Sand. It'll be quick; I have a delicate touch.