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Saw pulls him into a backroom, after.
Luthen keeps his hand on the gun he pilfered from Tubes. Saw won’t try to hurt him—not here, not now, not without serious reason—but one can never know, when he gets like this.
Except all Saw does is shove Luthen into hard rock and press close against him. He grins at him—teeth, glinting eyes. All slightly manic, but nothing Luthen hasn't worked with before.
“Now?” He asks, wary, and Saw laughs.
“Why not? You’ve never objected before.”
Luthen wants to say that before hasn’t ever been minutes after sealing the death of thirty men—plus Kreegyr—but Saw already knows this. Luthen won't find any satisfaction in riling him up again. He lets himself press back against Saw—his armor is hard and full of edges that dig uncomfortably into him. It’s a blessed relief: it feels something like penance.