From beyond the bars on Byerly's other side, Bastien says, "Walking."

He says it under his breath. He has his chin tipped down. His eyes have been closed, until now, aside from a sleepy, miserable but unconcerned glance up when Byerly was escorted back in. Whenever they're looking—the guards, especially Viator—he's taken care not to look more concerned about Byerly than about any of the others. No need to hand them another weapon.

But the sweet smell of an apple blooming through the stale, dusty air is a good excuse for perking up and looking closer at what's going on in the adjacent cell, so he does. He also slides his hand through the bars and holds it out expectantly.