The door opened.
Two guards froze in the doorframe, looking like they'd walked in on their parents having sex.
One looked at Blair. One looked at Guinevere. Both looked at each other.
Kael turned his head, his expression bright. "Does this make you uncomfortable?"
Guinevere's face was still buried in her hands. The cuffs jingled against her forehead. Neither guard answered. Neither guard moved.
"Is the prisoner... alright?" one guard managed after a moment, gesturing at Guinevere's buried face.
"No. She is not alright," Guinevere answered from her palms.
"She's fine. She's reflecting," Kael said.
"On what?" the other guard asked.
"On the consequences of other people's decisions."
"Is this some form of hostage situation?"
"Does she look like a hostage?"
Everyone looked at Guinevere. Cuffed. Cradled. Face hidden. Bright red. Jingling.
"A little bit," the second guard said.
"She's a voluntary hostage."
"I am NOT voluntary," Guinevere said through her fingers.
