Byleth follows, easily riding the cold winds, tipping and tilting to keep his balance and create as little noise as possible as he tails Angeal.

When he stops at last, Byleth posts up on the roof. Alighting, he moves as little snow as he possibly can, crouching like some kind of absurd gargoyle and allowing his ears to swivel, listening for any movement apart from the man below.

It's hard to tease apart, but eventually, his head snaps to a direction- was that scuffling he heard?