[It isn't an unreasonable suggestion. Should he consider it fortunate this man with him demonstrates a similar desire to leave? Or perhaps he's simply playing along — Sunday's gold eyes glance back, observing him, trying to talk down the rise of paranoia within himself. He recognizes this discomfort, but it doesn't make it easier to bear.

How fitting, that his first true experience beyond his home would challenge him like this. Trapping him in a small, seemingly inescapable space.]

I'll see. [One hand — it feels strange, wrong, not to be wearing gloves — tugs at the black velvet curtains of the divider and peers through glass.] ... There's no one. We're alone.

[He notices his pulse jump, a panicked little flutter in his throat. He tries to ignore it.]

I may be able to pry open the window, but there isn't much clearance if... either of us wished to try squeezing through.