Methos grits his teeth against the intrusive image and the draw to take up the work that has been consuming Bryn and straightens, tucking the notepad back into his pocket. The baker seems, if not precisely well in hand, not actively dying, and not likely to pose an immediate obstacle. And so he keeps his attention on the other elements of this macabre little farce, scanning the kitchen for the tools that must have been used to board up the windows.