"Are you sure?" It's said softly, almost gently. Like it hurts Miles to say it, but he feels compelled to speak the truth. He strokes back Kurt's hair, the touch impossibly careful and soft, especially in comparison to how tightly he'd grabbed their wrist moments before. "They didn't tell you about me, did they?"

He lets it hang in the air, heavy, impossible to deny. Then Miles reaches up, tugs aside his shirt collar to reveal his neck -- pale, smooth, unmarked except for a very familiar bite where his shoulder slopes down. The scar is old, years old, but it's unmistakably Corrigan’s, a perfect copy of the one on Kurt's own neck.

"If he could get rid of me, he can get rid of you, little one." Letting his collar go, Miles slides both arms around Kurt, tugging them close, a mockery of comfort, nuzzling into their hair. "You can get out now, sweetheart. You can escape before it's too late. Before they ruin you. Before they get bored."