The plane had parked, but Chen Mo was still sitting in his seat, legs stretched out beneath the seat in front.
Peter came over with his bag on his back. Just as he was about to speak, Chen Mo raised a hand.
"I hear you. In a second."
Peter stepped over his legs, only for Chen Mo to stop him again and point at the window beside him.
Their faces reflected in the glass. The gray streak on Chen Mo's forehead ran from his eyebrow all the way to his ear. He reached up to wipe it, but his glove was even dirtier. Somewhat disgusted, he lowered his hand.
"Can I go to New York looking like this?"
"Do you want to scrape a handful of sand off your face? New York is pretty accepting. We already have a Mr. Sandman."
Peter handed him a tissue. Chen Mo took it and stood as he wiped his face. When his feet touched the floor, the fragments inside his arm shifted too. He looked down to fiddle with his bracer and told Peter to go down first instead of blocking the door.
Jason reached for the bag at the bottom of the ramp. Peter handed him the strap and followed him inside. Chen Mo heard them discussing where to put things. His fingernail had already dug beneath the bracer's cover, prying it up slightly until he could feel the connector inside.
He could grip it, and there was enough room beside it to pull it out.
The connector stayed in place, while the cover's locking tab had been flicked outward.
Chen Mo pressed the side of his sleeve flat. Hearing Bruce's footsteps coming down, he let go and pointed at the workbench, asking whether he could sit on it.
"Chair."
"Bench is