His movements meant more than any murmur or mutter. Their suppression secured their secrecy, and it fueled whatever fire they had been fighting for so long. Perhaps, in the darkest of hours when she laid awake wondering where Cameron had managed to escape to, it bashed and bruised - but tonight his lips were preferred over his lark. They held more meaning and motive than any quip or comment shared, and so she allowed herself to move toward his familiar frame, hands pulling to his neck, and eyes shutting despite the darkness. It left her alert and aware; the ever-dull and dim threat that hung in the back of her mind was now brilliant and bright, but she also understood that it was something she could slight. She was safe.
It was with an inward - never spoken, never shared - reluctance that Echo allowed even a sliver of distance fall between them, following him without fear or protest.