A little of the dread eases out at the sound of his voice as rough as it is, and through grit teeth and a tense grin she replies, "Keep dreaming, York."

Connie grunts and slows to a stop, leaning her weight forward to balance York across her shoulders to fumble at her helmet's clasps one handed.

"It's worth a try. And I still completely agree with you."

Yanking the helmet up and off it takes her a minute to balance it in one hand and slide it up and over York's head without bashing it in his face or knocking his nose in. The visor is dark for a few seconds before it flickers to life as it recalibrates to York's suit. Not that Connie can see, as soon as it's on she readjusts her grip and keeps sprinting.