What happened at the museum still remains a blur. It was a culmination of pushing himself too hard, of broken bones not mending fast enough (not after two whole days and Christ, what a disappointment that was), of powers draining. Of knowing something was viscerally wrong, and not wanting to risk himself dying again because he couldn’t put Klaus through that again. Neither did the idea of Ellie baring witness to that sit right with him either, for all the experience of death she wore on her sleeve in those subtle ways only people who did terrible things to survive knew the look of. Ends and means.

He had given her fair warning. Fair choice. At the end, choice is all anyone had left, and for all of how much he hated letting her venture further in on her own, that was her call to make.

That didn’t change the edge of concern, that twist of weariness against his shoulders when thinking of her the next day. It’s greeted with an edge of annoyance, too - this girl who gave a shit made it difficult to be indifferent. A lot of people here did - or at least, a lot more than he thought. It surprised and troubled him. Should he not stay more neutral? His priority should be Klaus, and getting them back home.

And it was, he’d say. And yet, he blinks himself to the house she was staying in, right into the front entry and out of the cold. Even though he lands indoors, he still knocks on the door itself, in announcement.

“Ellie?” He calls out, measured, curiosity hidden under habitual professionalism. So he’d think. “It’s Five.”