“Time Masters do need sleep,” Rip concedes, and he sheds his wet shirt in favour of grabbing one that looks precisely like it from his closet, “but our body clocks no longer work the same ways that regular humans’ do.

“The amount of time jumps you’re required to do in training is both to learn and to strengthen yourself physically.” He looks back over his shoulder, shrugging. “You’d be surprised how long I can go without sustenance.” In fact, Rip has never had a meal with the rest of the team, and it’s likely a more familiar sight seeing him drink out of a whiskey bottle than consume anything else.

As soon as he’s pulled the new shirt on, he slips into the seat by the desk, tapping at the surface of it to turn its interface on. It’s similar to the table on the bridge, albeit miniature; Rip reaches for a wireless earpiece to put on, Gideon’s voice chipper as ever in his ear.

“I’ll sleep when I’m tired,” Rip says.

Except he always is.