It's time. Dread weights his stomach as Felix nods, turns to put his samples away and wipe the bench while the others talk. Jim makes it sound as if it's nothing, as if they're going to run an errand back on Yorktown- and Felix should do the same. Should be able to. How many cults and captains of the guard has he bluffed before? How many daedra? He can do this part, at least. He can steady his hands and gather up his notes and raise his eyebrows and even smirk at Sulu when that last bit sinks in.

Somehow, annoying someone else actually does make him feel a little better.

"I think he's starting to crack," he says lightly once he's following Jim down the corridor, his journal and parchments hugged to his chest. It feels like someone else is doing the talking; someone who doesn't feel like casting an invisibility spell and bolting for engineering (there are so many places to hide, down there).