Jon turns away from him, shoulders rigid under the thin prisoners' tunic, but stops himself. Exhales. The eye that opens vertically up the back of his neck looks at Strange, this one a soft, cloudy shade of blue.

That question's too logical to ruffle his feathers like this, even Jon can see. But it hit hard on his own conflicts.

"No. You might've, a few days ago," he says honestly, voice tired. "But not now. If there's a way out of here... I'll take it. I know I shouldn't."