[A flash, a boom, and Caitlyn half expects to find the man on his knees with his soul torn asunder. Granted, with the way he clings, she’s not quite certain that hasn’t happened.

[Her own face could be more shocked. She takes a quick scan of the non-land, blinks off an eyeroll, and tosses the would-be rope aside.]

We’re stranded this way, then. [Similarly flippant, though—he has dropped the smile. That changes things.

[Her expression softens. Caitlyn doesn’t offer certainty where there is none, but she does reach out: a firm grip at his forearm. If he shirks she’ll withdraw, but it’s not a slow movement; it speaks for itself, she thinks. She’s steady, if nothing else.]