Rogue knew that look. How many times had she seen it on others, worn by those who worked tirelessly with no gratitude for their efforts, or those who had been taken advantage of for so long that gratitude was simply incomprehensible? Too many times, for all of them. If he was the type to wear that expression, then she would say her thanks at every opportunity that presented itself from then on, to make sure he knew that she truly meant it. Not everyone would go to this much trouble for a total stranger.

She didn't move her hand as he adjusted his hold, letting him work it out because he was the one who would be leading them. It was important that he be able to move easily and not lost track of where they were, if the darkness was going to be so thoroughly pressing. "Just don't let go of me," she pleaded with him quietly. "Please."

Rogue didn't think she was afraid of the dark, but it had been so long since she'd really been in it. What if she was wrong?