I don't! But I can't do anything if I'm outside Paris pretending not to exist anymore either. Combeferre and Courfeyrac are competent and they've got passion for what we're working towards, but I'm not going to pretend this wouldn't play into that counternarrative. I'd be giving those people trying to end almost exactly what they wanted anyway: my silence.

[ His lip curls slightly as he spits out his accusation, eyes filled with nothing but cold resentment: ]

I don't want to be lectured by someone willing to kill for those assholes and keep that abusive system in place, just for a fucking paycheck.

[ It's petty, immature. He regrets it as soon he says it; for all his anger and resentment at the situation, for as little as he feels he can trust this man...he did just save him from a bullet.

The anger in his eyes is already cooling into a low, dulled resentment when they flick away from the other man's face. He draws his arms against his chest, still a little petulant in his remorse. ]

...I'm--Look, just please understand why I can't leave. Even if it is dangerous, I don't have a choice unless I want to undermine everything all of my friends have been working for over the last few years.