There is but brief moment during which Ilithyia considers staying right where she is. The men in the door are watching her and she smiles, knowing there is as much pleasure to be taken here -- and less pain, perhaps -- as there is elsewhere. But it is not them she wants, it is Spartacus.

With a smile for the other men, she follows, gown whispering against the ground as she emerges into the night air, gaze trained upon his back.

"You run from me?" she asks, amused.