Joan is an idiot, and allows herself some comfort because of it, pressing her bloody, mottled face into Marcus' shirt. He smells like stale sweat and cheap coffee, but he's her friend and that's all that matters. The creature in her roils at the thought, cackling and mocking, but she can ignore that.

She can ignore that for now.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs. Because Marcus is wrong; this is her fault entirely. In a different situation, she'd be angry, vindictive, defensive. But it feels like her life is rapidly coming to its end, and she needs to make her peace with that, and tie up all the loose ends she can find. She keeps holding onto Marcus even if he tries to let her go, but her placement is strategic, face pressed into his shirt and carefully away from his jugular. "I'm sorry. Should've asked, I should've- f-figured it out myself. Should've noticed."