[Cain's report tucked into one of her sleeves, Felicia strides down the hall towards the Commissar's room in good spirits. Her robes are as clean as they're likely to get without professional help, with only a few faint stains at the hem, but that's clean enough for now. That, along with the removal of her restraint, her release from chores, and good, satisfying go at purifying the heretek washing machine, complete with stamping a new wax seal on the door, have improved her mood considerably. She's even humming a little as she approaches the door.]
[it doesn't take her long to realize something's wrong, though; her augmented senses might not be in top shape, but she can still make out that there are two heat signatures in Cain's room, and that the owner of one of those is sobbing. She hesitates, then knocks on the door.]