The shield keeps flickering and North rolls into a crouch, rifle in hand, breathing slowly through his teeth to try to hold back the bleedthrough fear swamping Theta's side of the link. He can tell he's listening to Sigma, because every new dig pulls a fresh spike of incoherent panic, mixing with his own exhaustion and the renewed croon of Felix's voice into a muddy haze that makes it hard to think, hard to tell if he wants more to shoot the man who's asking permission to kill him or the man who's keeping Sigma extant, hard to focus on the shield which he's sure will come back if he just focuses on it harder.

His lips move, inaudible, but the words aren't for Felix or Maine. They're for the one who knows what he's saying the minute he forms it in the back of his mind, the one who reads his muscles as easily as he interprets what comes out of his vocal cords.

It's gonna be okay, Theta. It's gonna be ok.

Just focus on the shield - and the longer he focuses, the more he feels Theta lean into it with him, the fear channelling into a frenzied series of - pings?

Not focusing on that. Focusing on the shield. This isn't incoming missiles this is just a regular shield, he can keep it up, he can keep-

-it flickers out.