He was dancing around whatever it was, but Marian was so tired of having things be unclear, of never saying what she wanted to say, of reading between the lines to avoid disaster.
But she'd also noticed something had changed down here: the door of the dungeon was not the heavy industrial thing it had been before. She'd looked no further into it, so sick of cells and prisons.
And so she nodded towards the old toilet. "Is it to do with the new door?"