Elayra frowned in annoyance at Ghent’s affinity for returning their answers as questions. “Is that [i]not[/i] what I just said?” Her foot tapped lightly against the bottom box of her makeshift seat.
	She shook her head slightly at his second question, recognizing the validity of the inquiry. “Hatter Madrail isn’t royalty. He was the White Queen's right-hand man.”
	“Though the White Queen trusted him enough to name him her successor should he survive the Heart family.” Drust added, his gaze shifting around the room once more in an ever-vigilant watch for any creeping dangers.
	“Not that that matters with the [i]Red Queen,[/i]” Elayra stated the title mockingly, “on the throne.”
	When Ghent guessed that Elayra was of royal blood, her jaw clenched, and her back stiffened. The only answer she had time to offer was a nod as stiff as the rest of her posture before an unfamiliar musical number blared through the room.
	At first, one may have thought Elayra had fallen from her box-seat, but she landed nimbly on her feet, her weapons drawn, and Drust readily pulling out his katana.
	The two watched Ghent as he pulled a rectangular device from a pocket, its front lighting up as the boy looked at it. Elayra cocked her head and lowered her sword and dagger, while Drust’s intense gaze settled slightly.
	They remained quiet as Ghent had ordered while he spoke on the phone, another voice emanating from it in a jumbled murmur.
	Elayra’s brows rose slightly when he called something “darling,”  then her face fell as she saw his sense of determination waver into confliction. Wondering what held such power over him, she watched him remove the contraption from his ear.
	“Your…” Elayra shared a quick glance with Drust. Neither had considered that he may have found a family in this world. “You’ve found someone to call family here.”
	She looked to the phone when he held it out. She sheathed her weapons, then reached out to take it, Drust watching from where he stood as he returned his own weapon to its sheath with a practiced motion.
	“A communication device.” She flipped it over in her hand, but it remained dormant. “Much like our mirrors, I assume. In the rare event you can find one intact, anyway,” she added as she returned the phone.
	Incapable of answering Ghent’s last question, Elayra looked to Drust.
	He sighed, and his head twitched. “The portals are controlled by a mix of the magic in both Wonderland and the worlds they lead to, as well as a power all their own. When the Curse hit, lashing out at our world’s magic, the portals in and to Wonderland grew unstable. They all closed to conserve their power as well as prevent the Curse from spreading to other worlds. Wonderland and Earth have one of the strongest connections, so it was only a matter of time until the magical pathways between our worlds opened again. But it will remain so only for a few short days. It’s in our best interest to leave before tomorrow night, to be safe. Sooner, if possible. 
	“Whether or not you’d be capable of returning, I can’t say for certain. There is a chance they will all reopen once the Curse has worked its way out of Wonderland’s magic reserves, but it’s far from a guarantee.”
	“In short,” Elayra began, a bitter edge in her voice at the prospect of that answer turning Ghent away, “maybe, maybe not. But you have until tomorrow to prepare.”