All my life, people have told me what I ought to be.

There's just something about the people in Asgard. There always has been. They turn to empathy when he's expecting judgment, dismissal, almost anything else, and it gets him in an area he never thought to shield because that was never necessary. An area that's all too vulnerable because he's only ever braced for attack.

Slowly, the flames die back - not from the walls, not from the ceiling, but from Sophie. Little nicks around his throat are perpetually opening and healing because he simply won't stop shouting and ranting, but now he's finally still. Still and visibly troubled.

"Let me go. I wanna talk to Connor."