Marco looked at him for a moment, then to Gilda. He nodded. “Of course I am. But does it matter? Everyone’s scared. That doesn’t mean I should stand back and do nothing. Not when I can help.” He looked at them, steady and unyielding. “I trust all of you. You tell me that I can help better by cooking, I’ll fucking cook oats and bake fucking bread. You tell me that I can help better by treating the wounded, I’ll try not to turn them to mummies. I’ll return this armor, forget this nonsense. Just tell me that you can use me elsewhere.”