Apprehension is still cold and heavy as a cinderblock in his gut, but he wants to believe so, so badly that he can just lay down for a minute and forget everything. The humming of the elevator seems to imply a far greater machine than a simple lift, a massive monstrosity of wheels and pulleys. Distortion following him from the weirdly shifting halls to this closed little box, morphing as it goes.

"Because of me," he says quietly. "Leverage, because of things I know that they want." There's another apology on his lips, but he doesn't give voice to it. There's only so many times he can say it, no matter how much he means it.

"And you deserved a better life than that. You deserved to grow up safe."