Six months ago he'd have pulled a gun rather than let this happen in front of him. But that seems like a different lifetime. Now, his hands are too shaky to aim reliably for the phone, and he's no longer sure he's faster than Magpie outside the Metaverse, and the idea makes him sick to his stomach.

So instead he has to sit here and watch someone make decisions about him that he hates, and do nothing. Like he's been doing for weeks; like he wanted so badly to escape from, at home, only to find himself right back in the same spot again. A light dies behind his eyes as he watches in silence.