No he's not, he thinks compulsively, shivering inside his partially self imposed prison. He stares at Greg like he doesn't recognize or understand him, like he can't see through the dirty glass.

He can't hope that this will go anywhere. If he tries, it hurts like old phantom pain. Even with how familiar that van feels like it should be, like a haunting presence at the edges of his memory.

He grasps at his chest, feeling the tug of Lesedi's metaphysical chains.

"You can't help," he says quietly. "I'm not worth it. I was wrong."