Mary
Owen's outburst comes... Well, not as a surprise. In hindsight, it's exactly what the fiery redhead would say. If Owen was a person who'd be willing to sit and *Watch* As someone lied to sacrifice themselves, they wouldn't be the Owen Uriel knew. 

The sentiment still shocks Uriel anyway, and as Uriel comes to the terms that Owen isn't letting them face this alone, they ever-so-softly sigh. 

"Perhaps... Owen's version of events is... A bit more accurate." They concede, fiddling with their poncho's collar as they wince. 

"You're not— you said you wouldn't do anything to me *For that*. Is it safe to assume, then, that you had to specify because you are planning to do something to me...?" They falter, and the question that had been weighing on their mind bubbles to the surface. 

In fact, while Oliver had been interrogating the duo with feverish intent, he had answered remarkably little about what he was planning to do. The man had expressed intent to potentially contact Uriel's friends, and attempted to force Uriel in a room alone, yes— but he hadn't *Done anything yet*. 

It was a slow burn that ate away at Uriel's nerves the longer they stayed in the room, tired grey eyes shifting from corner to corner in an attempt to scope out whatever Oliver had planned.

"Or to other people, I should add." Uriel nervously glances at Owen, all too aware of how his presence affected the tension in the room. 

Owen was the only thing saving them from whatever Oliver had planned— but with Oliver coming to the (incorrect) conclusion of romantic entanglement, he was a bargaining chip, a chink in Uriel's armor. 

With Uriel's outburst at the end of their shared dream, there was little doubt that the only way to get to Uriel was through their friends— and a friend laid in Oliver's clutches, perfectly helpless and human and *Vulnerable*. 

The worst thing, though, was Uriel knew such a strategy would *Work*.

"You expect honesty from us, but I'd like to see such an effort reciprocated."

Uriel's chest rises and falls as they take in a deep breath. It's the only thing steeling their haywire nerves, their unnaturally forward question sending a spike of adrenaline into their veins. Despite their inner turmoil, the sentence rings clear. 

They *Needed* To raise the silent question, but dreaded hearing the answer. The plea was both their last hope, and their last words. 

They were kickstarting something potentially dangerous— but it was better than waiting for the vice to tighten its grip.
Judith
Oliver was *Tired,* And it was only getting worse. It was getting harder and harder for him to remember the fact that he, too, had been a stupid child at one point, that Uriel was not being unreasonable to interpret his words the way they did, and yet he breathed, and breathed, and didn't explode. He was calm enough. "I am, in fact, *Currently* Keeping you confined in a classroom in the basement as a punishment. No, I'm not planning to- What are you even *Implying* I'd do to you?"

His eye drifted to the two steel plates, formerly one steel plate, leaning on the desk. "*Right.*" He had done that. That probably didn't help the whole torture thing.

He lifted one robot from the desk in front of him, one of two remaining, and showed it off to the two scared teenagers in front of him. "See this? The thing that made that, yeah, awful screeching noise, I hate it too." He then turned it upside down, screwing off the robot itself and leaving only the liquid-filled cap in his right hand, and *Drank the liquid.*

"It's *Water.* These things just shoot high pressure water, the screech was what *Cutting steel* Sounds like, and if I used them on you for any reason other than self-defense it would be a one-way ticket to prison for me and to the hospital for you. So no, I am not going to do that. I am going to be sitting here for about..." He checked his watch. "...40 minutes, and *Inshallah* We can all go about the rest of our day after that. Okay? *Great.*"

Oliver was nothing if not a pragmatist. Human affairs didn't exactly come easily to him, though. He figured that probably showed quite clearly.
Mary
Uriel was silent as Oliver carried on his demonstration, watching with half-lidded, tired eyes. They supposed it was something they had in common with the teacher— pure, unbridled exhaustion. 

It would be so easy to take Oliver at his word, and remain in silence for the next 40 minutes. *So, so, easy.* 

But even if Uriel left detention unscathed like Oliver promised, the fear wouldn't subside. The checking behind their shoulder, the spikes of anxiety when seeing his name in Intra... They'd only dissipate once Uriel asked the questions weighing on their mind. 

"Then ... Why are you here? Should I believe it was a coincidence, or...?"

 They trail off. Oliver had told them to meet in his office, and Uriel hadn't, not yet. Of course, Uriel didn't expect Oliver to do anything with Owen in the room, but did the man truly want to sit here in silence and then part ways? 

The more Uriel thought about the teacher's motives, the more their head began to hurt. The what if's and unanswered theories sent sharp, pulsating spikes of pain straight to their temple, and they winced.