"Three, huh?" Harol tilted his head upon asking this confirming question. He really did not expect an answer if this was in fact the correct way to have heard it, and it seemed to be so. She was selective, that was for certain. Had to be with a life like that though, that was something that had been very evident in the past few days. It made Harol think how many people he had trusted... and how many of them had actually survived the so called "cleansing" ordered by the king? It was not yet time to mourn a potential loss, but Harol couldn't help but feel sad about the incident. The smile on his face faded bcak to a neutral expression, but it was quick to return as Freya told him that she had found their brief companionship a pleasant time as well... or at the very least Harol did interpret her words as such.

That led him into thinking: If she had enjoyed his company... and there was something different in her voice too now... Harol couldn't quite place his finger on it... but it could be that he had been one of the three she had ever trusted. Quite the accomplishment for a random stranger... at least that was what he was to her when they first met, and it has really not been that long since that. A little over the time it takes for the sun to set and rise again to the same place high in the skies. All this was however assuming that he was on that list of three people, and that was not certain.

"But who actually says we won't see each other for now anyway? We are around the same building I assume, so running into each other should not be an impossibility", Harol pointed out. He did not know how long Freya would enjoy the hospitality of house Clasz, but he assumed she would not leave just immediately. Before Harol had the chance to continue from this, the lock of the door made an audible click, and then the door was shaked, as if to confirm it had locked itself. Harol's heart jumped and he was about to reach for his staff and lantern, but then he could hear a voice saying: "Oh, it was open after all..." and a key rattling in the lock once more. Soon enough another click could be heard, the key was pulled out and the door opened. Two young female servants were behind the door, the other looked something around the age of Cyrus, while the other was most certainly only a child. The child was carrying a bunch of cloth, while the older one had several pouches on her belt.

"Oh... well we found them!" the older one said and then turned to Freya and Harol: "Please excuse the intruding, we were simply seeking miss... uhh... ehh..." she stammered, evidently unable to remember Freya's name. Harol laughed out loud: She was kind of cute, and this situation just seemed so far off from having to escape for his life. He simply couldn't help but let the light heartedness of the situation to make him laugh. "Well I trust you found her, because you would remember the name if it was anyone who lived here I trust", Harol replied after managing to pull himself together. He then glanced at Freya's wounded hand, it would be treated properly. It was something that made Harol feel good about himself: He had suggested this, even if Freya could have done it herself... but also it was thanks to him that she even got said wound. He had to make it right somehow, now didn't he?