The driver seems... satisfied, by something, and stows the hourglass once more. At Corrin's question, there is merely the nod of a hooded head, indicating an affirmative. The moogle lady boards the carriage with ease, vanishing into the gloom within, and as the driver tugs at the reins-

A question, burning in Serge from the instant the moogle started talking about carriages, fights to the forefront, and before the driver can leave he's putting his hand on the carriage, as if to stop it-
"W-wait!" He immediately regrets it, finds himself pinned in place by two eyes- well, not eyes, so much as pinpricks of light in the darkness of the hood, pale blue like far-off stars. Oooooh this was a bad idea. "I- I-I have to ask, I'm sorry, where... where does the carriage go?"

There's a long silence, and Serge removes his hand from the side of the carriage, feeling by the second as though he'd crossed some line, surely about to pay for it-

But the carriage door clicks shut, the sense of dread vanishes, and a voice not so much heard as felt, replies in a tone that's both gentle and unyielding, understanding but brooking no argument:

ON.

And then the pale chocobo pulls out into traffic, and in another moment it's gone from view, carriage and all. Serge's heart starts beating again.