Holden's been here a few months, has been aligned with Research for part of that time, has known Wysteria for all of it. There's no reason why he wouldn't know, by now, the kind of organized chaos that follows in her wake. But something about it still feels more familiar, more soothing, than it actually should, by rights.

It's not a sense he bothers to dwell on. But if he looks by parts more relaxed than when he came in, well. He picks up the pencil, taps it against the sheets a few times as he glances up at her maybe-an-insult, unruffled.

"I never thought I'd be so happy to wake up in the Gallows," he admits, by way of answer. "I'll never complain about these rooms again."

He never has, but you know. On principle.