Inside the plane, Arc sat in his chair, leaned forward and brooding over what had happened. He still didn't seem to care that he was covered in someone else's blood. All he could think about was Clyde's face, his twisted grin burned into his memory as he pressed iron to Madison's neck. His audacity earned him Arc's hatred, something that only a few people had ever seen. Not one of them survived either. More would die, too, if they tried anything like that. His face was hard as stone, his eyes rigid and unfeeling. The lights were on inside, but it didn't look like anyone was home. But the side of him that Madison had come to know, the sweet, protective side, was hidden, sitting away from the spotlight while his passive, survival mode dictated his action. He would act only on reaction at this point.<br/><br/>When Madison returned and started wiping away the blood, he stared straight into her eyes, barely moving when she placed the cloth against his skin. It was almost like he was staring through her, but in truth he was actually working his way back. If he dwelt on the death he had just wrought across the barren rocks, it would consume him completely. He'd learned to retreat when this happened, to preserve what little humanity he had left. So as she wiped away the blood, she also wiped away the grip of the ugly side. It would still take a little time, but he would snap out of it eventually. He didn't speak as she worked, but his eyes clung to her desperately, unwilling to release her.