Liliana followed steadily, walking closely amongst the hunters in the narrow tunnel. The mutated rat (not so large yet; she had seen a few at least three times that size) coaxed no emotion from her, but she stopped as the rest of the group did and continued when they did. The sound of their boots on the dusty floor, amplified by the rounded walls, made an almost soothing staccato in the tomb-like air of the place for her; the oppressive darkness was always worse if one walked through it alone. She had never done so, but horror stories from men who had tended to spark a tiny flicker of interest. After all, most of those men walked the path countless times with their fellows, and it hardly changed simply because of more people. Still, they had insisted; it was far, far worse without the sound of your comrade’s boots.<br/><br/>As they approached the metal gate, the spotlights shone down in an abrupt beam over the group, forcing Liliana’s eyes shut just in time to avoid searing her retinas. The doors grinded open after a bit of customary dialogue, and the blonde woman intentionally fell back a few steps to walk alongside the largest member of their party. His bulk would either draw any errant attention from the guards away from her, or shield her from their view entirely- useful either way. She didn’t want to answer any questions about the harvesters, not when a chance to sit and relax was so close; the watch probably hadn’t rotated since she had walked past it this morning, and even if it had the harvesters did enough back-and-forth that most of them knew her on sight. Fortunately, they weren’t expecting to see her with this company, and their backs turned in due course. Her coated figure sped up slightly, until she was close enough for the lead hunter to hear her over the footfalls of his men.<br/><br/>“You said… that you hadn’t been here in a while.” Her eyes still fixed ahead of them, voice monotone as before as she recalled his words to her now-deceased boss, but with a volume that was slightly more than conversational; she meant to be heard by more than the hunters. “The harvesters keep - kept – an outpost close to here. It has supplies, some space, and a door that locks, if you need it." Her face turned to the side, silhouetted against the tunnel lights to the rest of the party. "If anyone needs it,” she finished blankly, no hesitation evident in her voice at offering lodgings to a group little more than strangers, turning her face forward once more.<br/><br/>It didn’t have a resident doctor, though; if Lazarus hadn’t died while no one was looking, someone would still need to venture the rest of the way into the Underbelly to seek one out. It wasn’t a long walk, but nothing in this world was free: things like lodging, food, untainted water and even bargain-doctoring weren’t given away, even in places where they were more common than most, and she wasn’t sure how long it would take to convince a medical professional to treat the man. The outpost was well-stocked and large enough for a harvesting troop – nine or so adult men, plus herself – to spend a night or two preparing (so at the very least, the blonde woman would be able to re-dress any injuries that had bled through). It was mostly to gain an earlier start to a harvesting day, and for storage: the harvesters universally considered “home” to be one of the larger “pubs” further in the recesses beneath old Moscow. That place had most of their belongings, and a good deal more space, and was owned by the man that bought the entirety of their product.