Her first instinct is to look around wildly, drawing her Colt but not aiming, wide-eyed at the shift in setting. It's nowhere she's seen before; the closest she's ever come to a gaol cell was Cairo Prison, and she was on the other side of the bars.

"Don." This isn't real--you're...I'm not sure what you're on about, but this isn't real. But even as she's trying to draw the words together into something persuasive, something she can reasonably say aloud, a shred of her is doubtful. This isn't the man she's used to seeing. Not only is he suddenly her junior, he has the look of a fox staring down a pack of hounds. And everything around them seems frightfully solid; if she reached for the wall, she's sure she'd feel the rough surface under her fingertips.

Belatedly, she realizes he's looking at her gun. She holsters it without dropping her gaze from his face. "Don, something's wrong. It's a--a trick of some sort. We have to..." But what on earth are they going to do about it? Perhaps they need to start with something more basic than that. "Where are we?"