The crowds tear us apart and sweep me away. From Hogan and Isabelle. From Xander. From Noah.
“Noah! NOAH!” I scream as his hand is pulled from my grasp. I see his fur arms flail a few times, and then the crowd swallows him. I push back towards the surging mob, desperate to get to where I last saw him, but the wave of bodies sweeps me along and I can’t escape. My only hope is that he can’t either. That he, like me, is just a bit of flotsam carried in the current.
You’ll find him at the bottom. In the atrium. He’s fine. He’ll be fine.
I say it like a mantra. I stumble as we hit the landing but the tightly packed bodies keep me from falling. God help anyone that does—they’ll be trampled for sure.
He won’t fall. He’s fine. He’ll be fine.
I will find Noah.
Hogan and Isabelle will find Mr. Wilson and tell the police.
Someone will stop Resolution.
We have to.
Because anything else is unthinkable.