"I do trust you." It's so simple a truth to Jon now. But he says it with the weight it deserves, remembering the paranoia of the weeks before he smashed up that table, the way- oh, the way he'd treated Martin. He looks away, guilty, and rubs his free hand across his face.

"No, I- I started upstairs. An honoured guest," he says, with the faint sound of derision that requires. "But they weren't telling us everything, and I took action about that, and now-"

And it hits him in the chest like a punch, the idea of telling Martin what's coming for him, knocking him speechless.