Back home, Leah or Pope would've put him to work hours ago. Kept him too busy to think, or ran him through enough training to knock the disruptive thoughts right out of his skull. Leave nothing but dead sleep in its wake. He understands the reasons. Part of him wants that - something brutal to focus on, nothing but work and practical things.

The rest of him is tired, and the thought of it is aches at his soul. It never ends, does it?

He rests his head against the wall, watching her, and nods just once. They'll have to talk about this, he knows, because he can't stay here for long without the city coming sniffing around to have a say about it. He's got no contract now and there's a line tattooed on his throat: there are consequences to that, always. And if he's not careful, he'll bring them down on everyone in proximity, not just himself.

Maybe he should just fuck off and live in the woods for a while. Simpler for everyone.

"I'll make food for everyone in the morning," he promises softly. He'll earn his keep at least for the night.