Between their stares, Emma's starting to feel like a sideshow exhibit, that sense of overwhelming panic with which she awoke sitting tight in her throat once more, though she's fighting to keep it down. Some part of her is still trying to convince herself that none of this is real, but with the boy's mother at risk, she knows she can't act on that assumption just in case this is all happening.

"Stop looking at me me like that," she mutters, trying to find something to busy her hands with, but coming up empty.