"The part with the lab," he agrees, one hand trailing a branch to sweep snow from it in a diagonal fall. A small effect, but he feels the need to have one--if not to leave a trail in case they die horribly in a cave, then to make up for the way his notes seem to change after their description of it. A crack in the wall, burning insects, a lab beyond it. His empathy returning in time for the spark of paranoia, getting worse, something about Margaery fainting and seeing the future.

There's a page before it all cuts off that just says Tim, Lexington, and it's meaninglessness carves an empty place in him that has the shape of anger.

Right now, it's just gotten him a cold, wet hand. He stuffs it back in his pocket. "All the more reason to scope it out; there might not always be good climbing spots, depending on the day."