John does not fold under that cool and certain stare, but it does prickle unease at the back of his mind. This steady, unthinking arrogance: something in him recognizes it. A man so self-assured must think himself unassailably powerful, and there is no telling yet whether he is right.

This man is taller, broader, and better muscled than Arthur. John's expression closes slightly with wariness, and he crosses Arthur's skinny arms over their chest. He has to keep Arthur's body safe, until... until whatever comes next.

"Good," he decides. "You will need that here, if you are to survive. And we will need every advantage to escape."

Fuck the ramp: they're moving immediately to Plan B.