That protesting look Nick shoots him doesn't go unnoticed -- and, of course, after twenty years of knowing one another it's nothing new. But it’s forgotten when that clanging and screeching of something thrashing its way through the network of ventilation shafts has him stopping to listen helplessly for a second. Breath bitten back and wide, searching eyes turned ceilingward. It’s the closest the sounds have ever been and he feels an icy trickle of dread through his gut, adrenaline surging, crackling, through his sinews to his tingling fingertips.

There’s no debating Nick’s logic this time. It's fucking flawless.

“A’right, c’mon!” He whispers as he takes off, voice sharp with urgency. But there is no speeding ahead on his part, not when his top priority is ensuring that everyone keeps up and keeps close. No one would be left behind.