She's kind of surprised when he keeps quiet; it's not like him, and for a second, she's worried that she misheard. That it isn't him after all, or that they've stolen his voice and put it in a muttation. Which is why, when he's turned, his hands still up, the first thing she does is take one hand off her gun and reach out to push up the visor on his helmet, watching her reflection warp up and away, her face an odd mix of hard determination and faint worry, only to be replaced with Nick's face staring back at her.

"How are you here?" she whispers, partly to disguise the tremble in her voice, partly so as not to draw attention from anyone in her unit who might still be awake. "It doesn't make any fucking sense." None of this does. This whole war. There was a time when it seemed the only logical course of action; some days, she just isn't sure.