[The boy apparently possesses that most rarefied of qualities: common sense. Her poised tension doesn't dissipate, but it no longer bears down as intensely on Light as it does on the mutually adopted task at hand. She follows a half-step behind him with precision suggestive of practice in doing just that.]

The theory fits an observed pattern.

[Being forced into proximity with strangers and set some interminable little puzzle against her will has becoming a distressingly common occurrence in the past few months. The one advantage of this place so far is that is not the place she was.]

And I most certainly have no intention of losing track of you.

[She mutters, direly, her frustration a itch flitting under her skin that has nothing to latch onto. She perversely and briefly wishes that he had done something to irritate her, so she would have some point to focus her pent nerves on.

She grits her teeth hard enough in contemplation of this predicament that the firsy rasp of shifting concrete is almost lost on her. She tilts her attention to the noise, and the absence of what she might expect behind it.]

The door disappeared. [She says, quietly.] The architecture is aberrant.