Five is so lost to the voice ringing through his mind, letting it fill him up the same way loneliness had done for so long now, that he doesn't hear the soft crunch of boots in the snow. Doesn't notice that he's no longer alone at all until she speaks, and–

"Polo," he doesn't even know why he completes the call sign, it's stupid. Childish. And despite appearances, he is not a child and–

He sighs, a world-weary, bone-deep sort of sigh. "Go home, Zoey." There isn't any real inflection in his voice at all, flat and emotionless.