Capa doesn't contemplate his fate as often as he should. Still, the lingering abyss they overlook seems so inviting in a way that transcends his own mortality. Rather, it's like looking into the sun, a desperate sort of defiance of the inevitable.

The hand on his arm is a welcome grounding and he shakes his head. "Sorry," he mutters, getting back on track, not minding the harsh grab. He's used to it.