Martin glances to Regan as she signs something quick and curt to her brother, he doesn't catch the words but the meaning is clear enough. Marcus fires back, terrified, quaking, and covers his own mouth to try and quiet his rapid breathing. Martin is far too familiar with both that paralytic fear and the refusal to leave when leaving is the only thing to do. His gut twists uncomfortably at the too-close memory of being trapped in his flat, Prentiss pounding steadily on the door, the little scratch of tiny squirming bodies clamoring to get in. He remembers being in the tunnels, getting ahead of Tim and John, thinking he'd left them both for dead; losing himself in the Spiral's awful corridors because he wouldn't abandon John down there, not a second time. He knows what it is to be told to run, and to refuse to do it. Just as well as he knows that nothing could be more important to Regan than her little brother's safety.

So he inches forward, as softly as he knows how, though he's shaking like a bloody leaf. He shifts in front of Marcus, tucking his hand behind him to rest on the boy's chest, trying to urge him to go. Maybe Regan will be more inclined to it; she can grab him and run with him, they can warn everyone inside. And Martin can stay here.

And do what, exactly?

He hadn't really gotten that far.