Twenty-eight years old and counting, but he didn't blink at the diminutive. He got that a lot, from both good and bad sources, and it was just one of those things. Easy to ignore. When Wally reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, Connor reached up to push it away with his forearm, far enough down that there was genuine flesh there instead. Not very open to random touches, this one.

"Security, actually," he said. Wally was a bit too on the nose, not that Connor would admit it. "I'm not looking for a group, I'm looking for where the hell I am. You should probably keep looking for help, though."