"There should be." Jack tips his head up to meet her eye, then lets his head fall back to the pillow. He sighs, his eyes closed, feeling the rough sheets and the soft press of Anne lying against his chest, and wishes that any of this felt real. He takes a moment, trying to think imagine that they're back in bed in Nassau, before they were plucked off the world, before he'd gotten himself captured, before Max stole away Anne's heart - but the outside world intrudes. He can feel Anne shiver, just a little. It's too cold in this room and the night before they'd only pulled off their boots and weapons before falling, exhausted, into bed. There's a faint hum in the room, and outside he can hear the whoosh of cars heading past. None of it fits, or really feels like something he can trust.
He opens his eyes again, brushes a hand over Anne's hair, and pushes himself up. He pushes a hand back through his hair, settling it, then sits on the edge of the bed and reaches for his boots.
"There must be a road out somewhere, even if it doesn't take us home." From what Greta had told them yesterday, it seems like nobody expects there to be a way out of here that's not arbitrary and out of their control, but one woman can't know everything about this place. "If there's a way in, there must be a way out."
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He opens his eyes again, brushes a hand over Anne's hair, and pushes himself up. He pushes a hand back through his hair, settling it, then sits on the edge of the bed and reaches for his boots.
"There must be a road out somewhere, even if it doesn't take us home." From what Greta had told them yesterday, it seems like nobody expects there to be a way out of here that's not arbitrary and out of their control, but one woman can't know everything about this place. "If there's a way in, there must be a way out."