[ At least he understands. She can see it in his body language, tense, uncertain; he turns away perhaps to watch or guard or hide his expression but it tells her enough. Once upon a time, she might've found it a sign of weakness. Here at the edge of reality and all she once knew, she sees it as healthy dose of practicality. The terror hasn't hit her yet, dancing just at the edge of frayed and numb nerves. Some quiet and desperate part of herself wants to believe this isn't real, that it must be a dream brought on by fever.

But a lie will always be a lie, and she has swallowed enough of those to have no stomach for it today. ]

No, it won't be. Not for us. [ It's a morbid sort of thing to say but Shaye's honeyed words have ever come from the masks she carries and she has none to wear here. She presses her fingers against the edge of stone hoping for an edge and finding none. ] Not since they already have a way to control us for the most part.

[ Her gaze looks out at the guards, spying the ones who watch them intently. When they look away to keep an eye on other prisoners, she murmurs softer still: ] They were speaking of a place for a ritual.