Taylor stops trying to defend him. He stops trying to make this something good. And there's enough relief in that for North to slow his sightless scrolling until he stops, and releases a breath, and shuts the lane down.

He'd been planning on staying here until he started falling asleep or until they cut off his ammunition supply. And a dug-in part of him is growling that this is where he needs to stay, training or eating or sleeping until he can break himself down and come back together as something better.

But he knows Taylor, too. And this is the kind of thing where he digs in his heels.

"Your place?" He doesn't want to go back to his habitat. There might still be blood on the floor, and even if there isn't, there's a pile of small clothes and a few miniscule skateboards and a well-used loaner chassis that he's not thinking about with everything in him.