He can feel his heart thumping in his ears, shoved up there by the way his stomach's lodged in his throat and he can't decide whether to laugh or cry or just vomit, and his breaths feel thick and rough in his throat.

He's not hungry anymore. Which is a bald-faced lie because he's always hungry and there's no way to fix it without sending himself into a fucking self-destructive spiral. And yet he's still not hungry.

"The Spring bitch I fully expect to tell me to suck it up, princess, spare a thought for all the fuckers who haven't done a Durance before," he rumbles, folding his arms across his chest as he leans back in his chair. "You've got the home court advantage."