April nods, watching as he plays with the edge of the duvet before she comes over to sit down beside him. She still aches all over from spending days in that chair, from being bound, from the blows she's taken, but she reaches out to take his hands. "Try it again," she says softly and she isn't sure if it's that easy, if he can just concentrate and make it happen or if he needs to be upset.

But it's fascinating.

Even in her current state, upset and sore, confused and angry, she's interested by this. It doesn't change things -- or maybe it does -- but she isn't sure what to think. What he knows. What he doesn't know. What it's possible he can do.