Flipping over a new page of her sketchbook, Jadna realizes that there is but one sheet left blank... She sits on her bunk in the corner, as usual, doing her best to draw anything from memory.  She's drawn the room, the ceiling, the men in it as they slept, sat, or talked, until she's memorized every detail of their faces.  She's reluctant to pursue conversation, but has explained to them that her career is art, and where she lives... finding no connection between their backgrounds, they must assume, reluctantly, that they were not brought here because of a personal connection.<br/><br/>As the lights come up for the umpteenth time (she lost count at 12), their fluorecent wash reveals her curled in the fetal position again, pencil in hand as if to stab with it, just as she waits every time the lights go out.<br/><br/>She notices the door immediately.  She's drawn the room itself from four different angles, and she'd certainly notice even the slightest change.<br/><br/>"Where did that come from..?"  She heads to the outline of a door, seemingly ignoring the two men, and looks at her sketch of that wall from a few hours... days..?  before.  "What is going on here?"