And it's an opportunity Lambert is going to take. Ignoring the fresh growth of stone now blossoming out from the nick in his shoulder, he throws himself forward as soon as Sans is gone, grabbing the handles of the door and wrenching them open.

The rain comes roaring in through the open doorway, loud enough to interrupt the sound of the ball's music, if only for those close enough (and not addled out of their minds) to hear it. The water leaves Lambert's finery instantly soaked to the bone, but that doesn't seem to matter to him as he skids out onto the balcony, sword still in hand.

The Prince's courtyard below yawns wide below the balcony, inky darkness illuminated by the occasional flash of lightning that even witcher eyes can't see clearly. There's nowhere to run -- but then, by now, Lambert's done all the running he intends to.