It would probably have been incorrect to say that the young Burakh was squatting; after all, he wasn't claiming any of these abandoned homes for his own, he had his own little place he could call home... Well, as much as his father's old lab could serve as a home. It had four walls, a roof, a door, and a bed... as good a home as any, he supposed.

This house, however, was providing temporary shelter for the Haruspex, in a district rather far from the factories, somewhere north in the Knots. Low on coin, he'd been desperate to rifle through the abandoned belongings of the Sand Plague victims, much like the Impostress, swallowing antibiotics whenever he could find them and taking food whenever it was available. This didn't do much for his system, unfortunately; the liver, he knew, was going to be in bad shape after the whole epidemic. And yet, Artemiy knew that he'd be one of the luckier ones to survive this plague.

Klara can find the disheveled surgeon trying to rest and sleep off some of the damage, sitting in a chair shoved into a corner of the wrecked house, half-hidden by debris. His arms are folded across his chest protectively, and in his hand, a flashing knife, already stained with blood and ready for more.