Aidan was still—shaking detergent out of his hair and his clothing and his beard, and that was it, the final straw. He didn’t much like the thing to begin with—like it was a badge of an accomplishment he didn’t particularly want to have, even if the only accomplishment was loss and survival. He snorted, lightly, at Josh’s joke, preoccupied with getting the last bit of slightly-sticky powder off the sleeve of his shirt. “Doesn’t sound much different from home.”