"Not yet." Peter's voice comes out steady, quiet, calm. Isaac's ragged grip on his control is practically a palpable thing on Peter's own taut nerves. Peter's stomach is fluttering, his bones feel brittle. He takes a deep breath. Four minutes. He takes a few steps toward Isaac, slow, like it's not Peter who's about to rip out of his own skin. He's still sweating, and breathing a bit fast, but he's found his calm.

"Are you handling you? Because in four minutes this is going to get real."