(It hurts.)
The thought was flat. Factual. His nervous system reporting information he already knew.
(It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts—)
He kept breathing. In through his nose, out slow, the same way he'd been doing since the first loop when his body had figured out that controlled breathing was the only thing he had consistent access to when everything else went wrong.
Han trembled against his side. Small and scared and trying very hard not to show it, which was somehow worse than if he'd just let himself be scared out loud.
Si Hon looked at the ceiling.
Then at the blocked exits.
Then at Han's face, eyes squeezed shut now, knuckles white where he was gripping Si Hon's shirt.
He made a decision.
It wasn't a complicated one. It arrived fully formed and he didn't spend time debating it.
With his legs burning and his lungs working harder than they should have been, Si Hon shifted his weight and forced himself upright.
