We are perfectly aligned in that opinion. He glances back to the knife again, licking his dry lips. It wouldn't serve him well, he knew that. His body was weak, he suspected the moment he was caught his own struggles would show all the pathetic strength of a child, and disarming him would be done with humiliating ease.

It would be so much easier to give up. He wondered what it said about the grasping desperation of human nature, to struggle even in the face of death. He wondered what it said about him, he who lambasted the trouble of trying and then acted thus. Grantaire knew himself perfectly capable of facing death unflinching but not like this. He supposed that should have meant something.

He scrambles for the knife and is just about to seize hold of it, his fingers brush against the hilt, when suddenly the jarring feeling of weightlessness blankets him and he is floating. The touch of his fingers knocks the knife spinning away from him in midair and it strikes the floor, bouncing off and floating further away. Grantaire sucks in a startled breath, his heart beating fast as he looks back to Tom with wide eyes, praying that he is still out of immediate reach.