[ The creaking slam of a rusty doorhinge makes his jaw tense for a moment, looking around for the noise before he remembers. Thoughts can be more abstract than words and full sentences.

Now's not the time for curiosity, though. ]

...We'd be able to see it with the light. [ He does not feel calm or assured, but he gives her hand a faint squeeze, hoping that might be enough to encourage her. His own apprehension has to be stifled, condensed into something small, and buried deep. ] Besides, it's probably nothing.

[ It's more like the tension that comes with a swordfight, anticipating a blade but not quite sure where it'll come from. He takes another glance behind them, then back at her. It's strangely difficult to lock eyes, his hand feeling cold even as she holds it. There is no threat here. Just Toko.

Is it her...? ]

If we do end up needing to run, then we run. Just... don't let go of my hand.

[ He seems to be talking to himself as much as her, now. ]