A muffled metallic sigh sounds from somewhere to the left: Xenia de Bourgh, white mask poking out from under messy hair. She's awake, breathing nervously in a shallow, distressed shiver, but remains unmoving for a long second until Atlas' voice rouses her from playing possum. Not rational, in spite of the uncomfortably hot floor. But Xen is experienced, after all, in the things that can go horribly, horribly wrong if you move too quickly in the wrong environments. Also, she's often a total coward.

For this reason, her fingers are shaky when they pull the mask from her face. (Where did it come from? Why?) She sets it gently on the floor, noting its strange features, and sits up slowly, methodically, as if frightened of setting off a trap or tripping some invisible wire. Her head is full of odd words still, fluttering intrusively at the edges.

Something about keys.

"I don't know," Xen murmurs, staring blankly at the hatch as she tries to memorize the fading dream. The look of it brings her back to earth, and her head cocks inquisitively. "Oh. Those are locking glyphs."