Summary:

Shane's eyes squeeze closed again. “We had reason to put rules in place. Protocol. If ever—if it got to a place where, if he was ever feeling like he might—"

Hayden’s body understands before his mind catches up. His blood runs cold for a second, stuck on the scrunch of Shane’s face, the clench of his fist, how desperate he’d been to see Rozanov—Ilya—just now. To make sure that he was okay. Here, in person.

Not hurt. Alive.

“Oh,” Hayden hears himself say distantly. “Oh, fuck, Shane.”

--

or, Ilya needs a place to go, and Hayden's happens to be the closest. It turns out to be a good thing.