"You're alive," he says, simple and direct. He does not look at her, concentration devoted wholly to the progression of their path versus the progression of linear thought. "You're here. You've encountered an obstacle."

The cab is indeed still waiting for them when they draw into its view. Rush shoots her a wry upward pull of his mouth, small and sidelong, darkened by the troubled notch of a faint frown. "No obstacle is lacking in workarounds." He releases her hand deftly to open the cab's door with a quiet click, and angles his chin to indicate its interior. "I'd know."