It's a tight fit. For her— more so for a broad RK200, designed to shoulder the weight of human bones and weighted machinery. He makes it by flattening out, by twisting himself high and compressing manufactured musculature, shutting off the almost subconscious process of his own breathing cycles for the last handful of inches before that narrow hiding spot levels out into an open gap.

Her path is...risky; he'd expect nothing less from her. If Josh or Simon were here, without a doubt, there'd be a debate about how close they'll potentially be to fanning squadrons by the end of it.

But Simon and Josh aren't here. Held off safe somewhere in another section of Detroit, the only lives at stake right now are their own.

So the only thing she finds is a single, attentive nod. His knuckles brushed against hers in the dark: a subtle, wordless signal.

Go.