"The only ones I hear after midnight tend to be yours, Luke. Or the...singing. Down at the tavern. So you may be on to something there." Darrow shot back, a smile quirking up the corner of her mouth for a moment, before shaking her head. She didn't notice his look, but she did notice the shift in his tone, looking up from her own portion of the paperwork. The look she leveled him with was narrow - not angry, or offended, just...wary.
Anyone who'd spent much time around her wouldn't have a hard time figuring out where her loyalties were - she wore them on her sleeves just fine. But there was a difference between quietly supporting her fellow countrymen - veiling her distaste for their current straits into something less abrasive as necessary - and openly voicing dissent...while actively supporting the current system, no less. But, it didn't sit right with her, any way she turned it around. And, a pest Luke could be, but, as she'd noted earlier, he was a decent sort. So she rolled her shoulder, trading him papers for a print-sheet, "I imagine it was this morning. Itches more than anything now."
The fact that it had felt like...more to him as well though had something settling heavy and sick in her stomach, even if she wouldn't show it. The cotton in her head that morning and the enduring headache after...she hadn't thought much of it, honestly. Hadn't looked past it because she'd just wanted it to be done with. But, he was right. And that didn't spell anything good, though she was at a loss for anything she could do about it, especially right now.
Nothing to do right now. She just had to remember that. And focus on the job at hand instead. So, prints taken, she offered him a rag for his hands before heading back to the holding cells. And the start of her midnight watch.