It takes a few seconds to process, but when it does, what it means, Tom is zipped up inside a kind of rage he hadn't felt in years, not since Sarajevo, looking down at ten year olds outfitted with semiautomatics and blades. It's a marrow deep kind of rage and it's dangerous. For a moment, he's thankful that there's no one close enough for him to lash out at.

"That was stupid," he said very, very quietly, staring at the man, so close as to see the glimmer of reflected light in his eyes, and Tom's gaze doesn't even flicker to Mike's as the other man's silhouette creeps up behind him.

"That was very, very dumb."