[Her eyes go wide and round at this explanation, as if she expected something else. Maybe she did. Maybe she thought he'd be more practical, less kind, less--respectful is just the word. But he speaks to her like he values her. This both surprises her and, on another level, on the level that seems to have known him before, doesn't surprise her at all.]

[She plays with the bear's ears and tugs on her lower lip with her teeth, considering.]

You're my warden, which means it's your job to protect me. And I'm your inmate, which means . . . [A frown here, like she's trying to remember something from a long time ago.] Which means it's my job to listen to you.

[Guiltily, she looks up at him. She hadn't listened before, when he said she was safe. Maybe she should believe him now. Her eyes catch on the file, though--what is it?--and she shrugs helplessly.]

I said we'd talk if you didn't die. We can talk. It's okay.

[And there's that other thing, this weird urge to comfort him. To protect him. That weird feeling that no, her job isn't just to listen. It's to respect him the way he respects her. To take care of him.]