Askeladd's given Luther a gift, of sorts. The best and most productive way to channel his restless furious energy, in a place where he can safely do so: where he can cut loose and stop reining in that strength, stop wearing those kid gloves, not watch his public image the way he'd have to at the Ratification Day celebrations.

"Good," he says, and gets to work unwrapping his knuckles, half an eye already on the door to the showers, where he can clean up and then get ready for the mission later. Yearning. Like a hunting hound with its nose pointed north.

"I'll hit the showers and then report back in with you later, for the brief."

As much as Luther knows Askeladd steers his team well, he's also well-aware that there's a cold, self-serving edge to the other man. But truth be told, Luther's never minded it.

It reminds him of his father.