[ The words freeze him in place, make something tentative hum in him, something almost pleased. Like some neglected pup earning its first kind look, and—

It makes him sick to his stomach, how strong that feeling is. How pathetic it is. How both of them are helpless to this thing between them, like it's turned Faraday into some sort of parasite, feeding of Emma's good will and patience.

He laughs, a bitter, hollow thing in the silence of the street. The aching muscles of his right arm protests as he brings up his hand to press against his brow. ]

Yet. That's how it's gonna be?

[ Faraday turns to look over his shoulder. A distant streetlamp provides just enough light that he can see her, or at least a dim outline – but even without it, that tether points him straight to where she stands, a handful of paces away from her doorstep. A magnet snapping to its polar opposite. ]

That's not you sayin' that. That's not you wantin' me.

It's this. [ And he gestures loosely to the space between them. ] This goddamn thing that's got us both by the throat.