[His dark eyes stay on her face while she covers her mouth, the laugh sounding too clear and too bright for a place like this. There's an art to this, in watching a person for long enough to know what they want. What they will need to bend or break, and finally, submit. Their tone of voice, the words they choose. How much of themselves they are willing to reveal and how fast.

This woman hides that. Her manners are above the rest, her head held high and her polite laugh pitch-perfect for court or a polite dinner party no one wanted to attend and the Darkling keeps quiet.

With a half-smile, he answers,]

Now, that would be telling. [Could she be swayed by a sad story? A tale of broken hearts and the hardship they had to endure? By bravery, or by power? He steps closer to the bars that separate them and continues in a low voice, keeping his eyes on her face.] But don't give these bastards any ideas. They might decide to let me out to see if your guess was correct.