Through the swirling clouds of steam, the sound of running water could be heard. Droplets of condensation on the white, tiled walls rolled downwards, drawing intricate patterns on the surface. A vague silhouette of a man could barely be seen through the shower door, and it belonged to Miles. He had been awake since seven in the morning, starting his day off with some exercise was part of his normal routine. Being in the Royal Hounds, staying in tip-top shape was important, even with his fae blood. His weakness to iron was definitely a setback, however, but he managed. The crown had been thoughtful enough to set up a sister training facility for others like him, with equipment made from other metals, instead of iron or silver. Most of Miles's morning was spent in said facility, and now he was simply taking a shower to wash off the sweat.

A short squeak of metal against metal rang out as he turned the faucet in a counter-clockwise motion. The torrent of water previously gushing from the showerhead slowed, before stopping completely. Sliding the shower door open, Miles reached for a nearby towel, and dried himself off with it. After all these years, everything was still kind of surreal to him. He had spent so long on the streets, having people look at him like he was some sort of beast, that he couldn't quite believe that it was all over. The fact that he no longer had to fight tooth and nail just to survive... well, he doubted that he'd ever get used to it. The gratitude he felt towards the crown for taking away him away from that dreadful life in the Underground monumental, to say the least. To this day, Miles still felt indebted to them. If the Royal Hounds hadn't taken him in, god knows where he'd be now.

The fluffy, white towel was quickly returned to the rack once Miles had no more use for it. He dressed himself once again; his outfit was simple, consisting of a white dress shirt, a dark grey jacket, and a matching pair of slacks. All of which were tailored perfectly to him, of course. Maybe it was his natural fae vanity finally taking root, but Miles was always a sharp dresser whenever he could manage it. It took a long while for this custom-made suit to finally be complete, but it was all worth it. The end product was something that moved with him like a second skin, combining functionality with appeal. While he really couldn't care less about what other people thought of him, he had the money to splurge, so why not?

Exiting his room, Miles began heading towards the conference room. The text he received earlier mentioned something about a meeting between all members of the Royal Hounds. He wasn't quite sure what it was going to be about, but he wasn't going to question it. Information here was on a need-to-know basis, and he'd find out what it was all about soon enough, anyway. These newfangled "cellphone" contraptions had taken Miles quite a while to get used to, but then again, he had always been a fast learner. The soles of his full-brogue shoes clacked against the ground as he walked along the winding corridors, in search of conference room 345B. The route was familiar to him, and soon enough, he found himself standing right outside of it. Miles pushed open the door, and stepped inside.

He noticed that there were already a few familiar faces present; some more so than others. Clement was the only one in the room that was in the same corps he was, and so, he was a slightly more familiar with him than the other two. However, the Royal Hounds wasn't the place for making friends, and their relationship never really went beyond missions and fieldwork. Miles admitted that it was mostly his own fault, but a leopard couldn't change its spots - his sullen disposition tended to put most people off. He didn't mind it too much, though, he's never needed anyone other than himself. Nodding a quick greeting to everyone in the room, he sat down in one of the chairs, fingers steepled.