The strangest thing is Assange’s life inside the embassy. He lives in one-room converted office that’s practically a prison—although given the cost of real estate in London, a studio apartment is nothing to sneeze at. He has an Internet connection so he can conduct his work; a Vitamin D lamp (since he hasn’t been able to go outside, except on a small balcony, since entering the embassy); a treadmill for exercise; a shower; and a kitchenette. He subsists on takeout meals. Around the embassy, British police patrol at all hours, in case Assange should try to slip away. The tally for security was more than $15 million on last count. (“It is sucking our resources,” the Metropolitan Police commissioner recently complained.)

Perhaps surprisingly, there’s been little indication that the Ecuadoreans are getting sick of their guest, though he’s worn out his welcome with previous hosts. But the ambassador has expressed worries about Assange’s health, and Assange said in August 2014 that he intended to leave the embassy soon, but offered no indication of when or where.

In part, that’s surely a matter of strategy: He doesn’t want to telegraph his moves, given the various law-enforcement groups on his trail. But it’s also a reflection of his limited options. Ecuador has granted him asylum, but he has no clear way of getting from London to Quito; any attempt to take him out of the embassy could lead to a major diplomatic standoff between the Ecuadorean and British governments. For now, his best hope may be for the Swedish investigation to end without charges.