"Presumably they're going to talk, so we have some time to think. In our favor is the fact that if we were all lying, we'd presumably come up with absolutely anything more plausible than the frustratingly vague truth." She can almost see him compartmentalizing in real time. "Which means, based on what we know of our colleagues, they've got a couple of ways to potentially work the problem. Assume we're mad, which still raises a variety of questions they'll need us around to answer. Or assume we believe what we say. In the latter case, that doesn't meant they'll believe our story is true, necessarily, but it still puts them in the position where they'll have to keep talking to us. I would be shocked if they landed on 'shut the door and ask no more questions.'"

He doesn't pace, but it's a near thing, his gaze abstracted as he thinks.

"They can't solve the mystery of who we are without us. And I can't imagine they're going to be content with not knowing. So even if it's uncomfortable while they're suspicious, I suspect we wind up in the Gallows within a day or two. Possibly under guard or with our movements restricted, but not just left out here indefinitely." He can't know, of course; none of them can. But he's working through who will be making decisions and how he knows they think. The intial dust-up won't help, but he doesn't believe it will change the ultimate outcome.