<strong>Emily Fitzgerald (mid 2008, age 16)</strong><br/><strong>Location</strong>: The apartment<br/><strong>Tag</strong>: Sully<br/><hr/>Emily watches him a moment, watching the dark, at rest but not at ease.  Her mind turns over what he's said, considering it as carefully as she can... with the fear and the anger comes a grim acceptance, a faithless understanding that they, here, are each other's only support against forces more than the darkness, or the fey, or the order.<br/><br/>"It's more than that you know.  It wasn't chance."  She shrugs, the motion jostling him very softly.  "It's not a coincidence that there were so many of us.  And yeah, lies or not..." they're so close, he can feel her tense, "what was coming for us was real.  And it would have gotten us if the order didn't, or that woman didn't.  I mean... we could never have prepared for that."<br/><br/>He can hear her heart, steady and small.  "We have a chance now, you know?  We just gotta figure out what kind of prison this is, and if we can escape it-- maybe not today, but one day, right?"