[Ciaphas Cain is taking advantage of the continuing chill to enjoy a nice jog around the dome. There is something less than engaging about sticking to the track all the time, after all.]
[Pausing to get a drink of water, he happens to glance into a nearby window. He barely paid the image any mind at first glance, but he does a double-take.]
[The face of an old man--and elderly commissar--stares back at him. Once he realizes that this is not a trick of the light or a reflection from anyone nearby, but potentially the product of witchcraft, he can feel the bile rising in his throat.]
[It's only while pulling himself together enough to decide what to do that he gets a good, solid look at the man in the reflection.]
[It's him.]
[Cain immediately elicits a series of curse words as he springs backward from the glass, reflexively touching his face. He doesn't even notice if anyone is standing nearby or not.]