She could feel Abe and Charlie staring at her as she held the watch, but she couldn't meet their gaze. How was she supposed to tell them she simply didn't have a clue?
She could wind it. She should wind it. Something inside her liked the idea of winding it. Winding it would look important.
So she wound it.
It clicked as she turned it. She wasn't sure what she was hoping for, but it clicked, and still she twisted--slowly, so as not to damage it--slowly--
The vines flickered like static on the walls. It startled her so deeply she nearly dropped the device, but when she released the dial it was all gone. The space was small again, pale, and stuffy.
She finally looked up at Charlie. He hadn't seen a thing. Neither had Abe. They looked more perplexed than ever. "Was this room ever used," she asked, "as an atrium?"