Perhaps part of her was hoping he would offer her comfort; not as anything that had any sort of underlying subtext, but just as a decent human being. That, Rowan reasoned, wasn't completely unreasonable. She had been witness to enough traumatizing events that, when pressed and faced with the sobering reality of death, strangers offering each other comfort was not out of the ordinary.

She was obviously in distress, in contrast to her previous disposition of being extremely snappy at him. All this compared to the semi-truce they'd drawn earlier had led her to - expect? No, just hope - that he would offer up at least a word. As he merely patted her on the shoulder and passed her, she quickly swiped away the tear that had been on her cheek and watched his back. Then again, she thought as she quietly followed him through, they were merely acquaintances if that.

The surge of indignation that had quickly risen in her as he passed faded just as quickly. You're being absolutely ridiculous, she thought, straightening before continuing forward. It was best to forget the body behind them, including the feeling of helplessness that had risen in her when she was working on it. It wouldn't do either of them any good for her to break down. That would come later.

Approaching the kitchen door, Rowan prayed - prayed - that he was right and this was going to lead them out and into some sort of deck.

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