You moved through it with your head down.

No point in looking up. Nothing worth seeing. Just the same faces, the same crowds, the same three-thirty stampede toward the exit doors.

Ten more steps and you'd be out.

Five more steps.

Then—

The motion was fast. Reflex.

Your elbow caught something solid—and unmovable—right in the gut. A breathy, forced-out noise came from behind you.

Then a body hit the floor.

You turned your head slowly.

Blonde hair, sharp jaw, blue eyes that should have been glaring at you. Should've been pissed. You'd just socked him in the stomach hard enough to hear the air leave his body.

Instead, he blinked, mouth partly open, and stared.

Like he was looking at something he was really, really glad to see.

Gross.

You looked away. Found a gap in the crowd headed toward the exit—a thin pocket of pure, empty hallway, only a few seconds before it filled back—and moved. Fast.

You could hear him. Pushing through the crowd, telling people "move, move, sorry—" and the whole hallway turning to watch what the hell Caleb Finn was doing chasing after some stranger.

The double doors to the parking lot were a few feet away.

A few steps.

A few—

He burst out in front of you, cutting you off completely, and slammed two hands onto his knees, panting like he just ran a whole marathon.