Derek makes the journey by himself, from the car to the vast room of the round table. Perhaps it's because he lacks any of his own memories, but he drinks in each new sight like it's water in a desert, taking his time walking along the paths of the Headquarts, stopping to admire the art, read the inscriptions. Or maybe he just prefers to be prepared.

He doesn't know much about the Knights, but what he does know is enough. It's hard for him to trust in what he's told about the loss of his memories, his home, the Veil, but it's also hard to maintain his stubborn skepticism when there's no other information. Any conflict, however, is resolved by the list of commands lettered over the doors. Derek isn't sure he has the ability to uphold them, but they strike some clear note in him, like a fork to glass, and he wants to.

There's a man in the room Derek is directed to — the man he's supposed to speak to, he assumes. Once he rounds the table, Derek resists the urge to fold his arms standoffishly and lets his hands hang loose as he waits, out of deference, to be addressed. But Wynn's intimidating blank demeanor and the cavernous emptiness of the room around them leaves him in zugzwang, and eventually Derek breaks the silence, trying to keep his voice even: "Hello?"