He's a wreck, a man falling apart in ways Irene doesn't let herself comprehend. Pity is something she should only allow in the abstract, never something so uncomfortably close as this. It would be a lie if she said she didn't consider turning on her heel, lifting her skirts and running. Leaving him here would be nothing, while expending the time and energy to retrieve the key would be--

Well, it's a risk. And Irene doesn't take risks lightly.

But he's in a cage. He's in the kind of predicament that would ruin Irene, drive her utterly mad. And so she hesitates, takes a step closer to look at his face.

"And if I go retrieve those keys, then what?"