cut our teeth and make our bones right here

we're always running scared but holding knives

"You certainly are not," Isla murmurs as she exits the room - and he's quite correct, she does think on it. Often. And she still chooses to turn her back to him; whether that says more about him or her remains to be seen. (Perhaps that's why she does it).

The walk down to his cell room is a short one, Isla unlocking and opening the door for him. "Would you like a bedtime story?" she asks with a small hint of amusement in her voice.

The story of course, consists of some sleep study that one of her interns is performing. Remi will have a choice of whalesong with alpha waves (or beta, Isla can't remember), whispered fairytales or desert winds.

Or silence. His choice.

Isla