"Don't," he says quickly, because it's a thought he's not ready to hear said out loud. "There are prisons everywhere, Jo," he tacks on dismissively, the best he can come up with.

He doesn't know if he really feels that this is one or not. In the right viewpoint, he does think anything can be a prison. This, he supposes, is only one if they make it one. And it is worlds better than their own home, perhaps just unsettling because they can't see who is drawing the strings here or why. He downs the rest of the drink he's holding.