Bran had remained in the catacombs for a while after Lotte left, not only for the solitude, but for the safety they provided. The tunnels stretched far and wide, and he knew that if he could familiarize himself with them even more then it would give him an advantage over everyone else. Someone could easily become lost down here, never mind be lured into a carefully constructed trap if need be. Maybe he wasn't Erik, and this wasn't the Opera house; but he could make do with what he had.
Eventually he ventured back up to the eleventh floor, but not before tossing his baseball cap and sweatshirt in the well, in addition to the candles. The chair he left in the darkness, but the violin was brought with him. Things would have to change now - he couldn't use any of the voices Lotte and Ella had heard, and he'd have to start dressing differently. The obstacles ahead were great, but he was fairly sure that he could manage. He stayed in his apartment until the next day, when he decided to start using all that cash he'd been storing to get himself a new wardrobe. It was time to become a new man.
As soon as he stepped out the door he noticed the fliers, a knot of anger appearing in the pit of his stomach and slowly growing larger. He picked up one of them with shaking hands, scanning the black print twice before crumpling it into a ball and sticking it in his pocket. "Keep your hand at the level of your eyes," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Well. In deciding my fate, fools, you have also sealed your own." He knew who had to be behind this - that foolish bitch had just signed her own death warrant - and he also knew that Lotte had talked, just like he knew she would. That didn't make the sting of her betrayal any less felt, however.
He stalked out of the building, deciding that he would stop at a hardware store and buy some more rope first. After all, what was an Erik without his punjab lasso?