He is, for now, too preoccupied with bandaging her hands to notice any longing gazes towards the Singularity. He works silently, efficiently, in that way he tends to, gentle but lacking the delicate touch of a proper doctor.

Being trapped inside the Horizon for a few weeks is one thing. He's experienced it, the disorientation it came with, the odd feeling of having lived another life that wasn't his. But being isolated in an alternate plane altogether is something else. He can see that she's all right, and he believes her. It's still difficult not to worry.

And he can't help wondering if there's yet more she's keeping from him, even now.

He finishes tucking in the edges of the cloth, though he continues to hold onto her hands. For a moment, he just takes her in—but they haven't much time to linger. They've more than overstayed their welcome out here, and night is rapidly descending.

"Can you stand?"