She strides straight through before the doors have finished opening. The best cover in a place you don't know but don't want to be caught out in is to pretend you know exactly where you're going, and she walks with purpose, glancing at the walls to check for any sign of the directions Rogers thinks might be there.

She doesn't see any. The corridors are lined on one gently curving side with glossy screens that remind her of the helicarrier's computer banks, and on the other with what look like brushed metal storage compartments -- like the ones on commercial airliners, above the seats. The floor is carpeted, the lighting is pleasant and soothing, and the door closes behind them with a smooth shooosh that she wouldn't even notice if she weren't so keyed up. "So much for signage."

She looks one direction, and the other, steps to the edge of the carpet to study one of the screens more carefully. It's quiet, black, and she can see her reflection in it as she reaches to touch the pad of a finger to the glass.