Ariadne's cellphone, purse, wallet, passport, and clothes were all left behind. She looked up tersely at the flight attendant. She grumbled and turned back to Arthur.

"If it's her you want, then tell me. Because you're coming back here and I won't be with you. It's not that I don't trust you, Arthur. I trust you with everything. My life, my heart. I don't trust her. And I know I'm not your type. I'm short and artsy and generally unkempt. I'm pushy and loud and very opinionated. I don't have long legs and huge boobs. I'm just me." She sighed looking down. "But I care about you, too. And I'm just scared. If she's your only contact in Argentina and she can keep you safe... I mean I can't even keep myself safe."

She gestured to the bandage. She felt miserable now. Why did she go to Buenos Aires? This was not at all how she thought it would end. And being so open and vulnerable with Arthur was just as frightening. But she did trust him. She looked up at him slowly through her bangs. Ariadne was always one to wear her heart on her sleeves, but her eyes always spoke volumes.