Adam glances up from his tinkering and immediately spots the new door. Strange enough to draw him up. He sets the mandolin delicately down on an armchair and moves toward her, studying the sudden exit.

"I don't think so," he concedes. "Should we...?"

Without waiting for an answer - he can almost taste her curiosity - he reaches out and opens the door. It gives without resistance; heavy and slow, creaking only a little.

The room beyond seems too perfect to believe: windowless and almost empty apart from the table in its center, upon which rests a crystal decanter of unmistakable sustenance.

Adam doesn't make a move forward. "We seem to be staring down a gift horse right between the teeth," he says finally.