The suggestion makes sense, and Firo nods. He cranes his neck to do a sweep of the area, finally pointing off to the far corner where one hallway juts off from the main floor.

“What about over there? That hall looks darker than the others—they probably let those guys go home.” Couldn’t have any very important businessmen or bureaucrats get in the crossfire, right?

He pauses where he stands, waiting for Roland’s verdict. He doesn't make the conscious decision that his friend should be the one to direct their progress, but it only feels natural; there's something Roland has that's so much like the effortless authority of Maiza, Ronnie, and even Don Molsa Martillo.