[ They're at least on the same page wishing that the present reality was otherwise, but having been thrust into situations where she's had to work alongside people who outright threatened to kill her if she stepped out of line, while marked by something none of them really understood (or hadn't, back then)... well. Wishes amounted to little. Their slap-dash cooperation took care of the big, fishy problem, and as Ellana stands there in her wetsuit and pulls her breather out of her mouth, she has to look around.

They're in a room that's been drenched and wrecked by the Stalker's thrashing about before they tanked it. Various items are knocked over, in disarray, and water is pooling around their feet (and his shadows, that's much stranger now that she's seeing them with a less pressing target on hand). Turning with Brett still in her peripheral vision, she reaches out, pulling on invisible lines back toward herself. The top of the tank settles back into place, the sloshing water from the Stalker cut down to minimal splashing. ]

Can you see the latching mechanism?

[ For the lid. Not answering the other question right now since the answer to that is no, but I have a funny idea you're going to slip away which would leave the whole of the room to her to take care of setting to rights. Tugging her goggles down and allowing them to rest around her neck, she rests her fingers along her jawbone. ]

I'd like to make sure he stays in there and doesn't throw himself back out to flop around in front of us all over again.

[ Considering further thrashing includes an attempt to charge up and into the aerated top, those worries don't appear to be foundless. ]