"It was the last experiment I ran at home."

There's next to no emotion in his voice as he says this, in part because he's fully engaged here, but also because he's had two years to build up a wall thick enough that he can rely upon it to do its duty in public. (Often in private, too, much to his partner's ongoing consternation.)

"Unfinished," as a clarification, comes out equally removed in a way that Stephen may well recognize.

Viktor's arm now comes up with a jerk; the knife flashes wet, severed stems fall away. The greenery beneath him begins to sag, and he seems to find this encouraging.

"Now pull," he says, with the knife held well away from his own face, suggesting some turbulence in his future.

Indeed there will be, as the vines Stephen holds ought to loosen the rest of this leafy nest enough that he'll slip out. The one wrapped around his wrist, meanwhile, ought to keep him from plummeting directly to the floor. He's pretty sure. Based on what? Nothing. Vibes. This is not even a plan, technically, it's more of a whim conjured up by sweaty restlessness. Anyway, here goes—