Isabelle props her elbows on the table, placing her face in her hands. She hates feeling defeated, and hates showing it even more, but here she is — her hair's a tangled mess and her clothes are damp and her shoulders sag. And despite how incredibly tough she is, how strong she's been trained to be, she finds herself fighting back tears for the hopelessness of the situation.

She will not cry. She will not cry. Instead, she pulls in a deep breath, and lifts her head again, composing her expression. She pushes her hair back from her face, and looks at the girl beside her. "Okay. Then what's next? We're stuck here indefinitely. How do things work around here?"