Miles glances up at the light fixture. And sighs, and hauls himself off his bench to inspect the room.

It is awfully devoid of escape possibilities. Two benches, neither of which he can detach from its mooring. One light fixture, which he can't reach, and which is sealed tightly behind its panel in any case. The locked door to the outside; the doorless door to the little room containing a toilet and a sink. Miles supposes he could block the toilet and flush repeatedly, or block the sink and run the water. Perhaps if he floods the room sufficiently, the floor will give out and they can tunnel back home. Fuck. He sits back down.

"They feed you, I assume?"