The absence of anyone cuts them worse than if they'd had to face a crowd. They stare out at the emptiness, hearing those voices. Uncaring voices that chattered above a torture chamber.

The surgical tool clatters to the floor from their fingers. They find the nearest curtain to wipe off the blood and that's when they notice the mirrors. Nothing. No one. They walk up and press their fingers to the glass, frowning at their absence... but not surprised. What were they without their hosts anyway? They press a moment longer, then move away, arms folding.

Across the chamber, they take in the three doors, one foreboding, one inviting, one plain. If being a daemon has taught them anything, it's that the inviting things are dangerous. They skirt away from that sweet scent, moving for the laundry room.