I never did ask Damian about the timestream. About when Jason arrived from, his last encounter with any of us. And a part of me wonders whether it was an oversight, or whether I simply knew that my first suspicion would hold true— that the waver in his voice is the same one that I heard months ago, my eyes darting around to a similar fall of shadow, to the doors in the room, listening for another breath. Letting my own slip when silence reaches my ears.

"The people here would sooner arrest me," I reply in turn, swallowing down the blood pooling in my throat, bleeding back; it's not easy going. "I returned because I don't want you staying here, Jason."

I wonder if the scar on his neck has faded.

"This is no way for you to live. There is no reason for you to keep yourself down here."