"Yeah, okay," Karen quietly says, the two words heavy and resigned, almost regretful as she pushes her hair back from her face. Emotion wants to crawl back up her throat again, but she swallows it roughly back down; no place for that here, no matter how heavy the load.

"I need to get out of here," she decides, the cold concrete walls feeling suddenly too close, too hard and harsh and industrial for the lives packed in on the shelves between. Pushing herself up, she absently scuffs dust from her backside, then touches her pocket to confirm the the vial is still there.

"I'm not apologizing for it," she says, looking down at him, and then steps past to the door.