[ It had felt like an incentive when Harold had first said it to him. They had repeated it over the years, each time with less conviction. It had been a race to that finish line in the end, one that John had won, but one without a real winner. A race that John didn't truly understood the consequences of until it was over.

And just earlier, hadn't Harold told him that he didn't want to outlive the numbers? Are they really so different on that count? He won't put words in Harold's mouth, but John won't pretend to be something he isn't. ]

We did help each other, [ he agrees. That's undeniable. They did. They found something together. ] But Harold, you know who I was when you recruited me. For all the times it almost ended, I didn't really think about it until after it was over. Not for either of us.

[ He pauses for just a moment before continuing, not looking at Harold but at the poem instead. It's not entirely true that he didn't think about Harold's death, he just was so confident in his ability to prevent it, so unthinkingly sure in his plan. And how did that serve him? ]

When I think of strength I think of all those numbers who we saved. People like Megan Tillman. Or Sarah Jennings. They kept trying, they figured out how to live even after their lives fell apart.

[ John's been doing a lot of running up until now. It's not to say that he won't again, but he's here with Harold, trying at least to slow his pace. Etraya had frustrated him before because it made him stop, took away the pavement from beneath his feet, but now he's going to have live in that space. He's going to have to learn the shape of what's around him, his life.

It's a little terrifying. He doesn't know how to be a bell, let alone ring. ]