Salt still pours, forming a pyramid in front of mister Pompadour; Avery stares in disbelief. Both of them are frozen and afraid to move an inch. She knows she is, at least.

Run.

That's the push she needs. Her whole body jerks, set to take off in any direction.

"Wait!" He raises a hand after her. The sack he's pouring from flops to the ground and the stream of powder sputters out. "Ah, shit. One second—" He sweeps powder with his hands, trying to massage it into an even line like the rest.

Instinct roots Avery's feet in place. Instinct to listen, to be kind. To hear people out. Only for a moment, though. Her divided mind echoes that singular thought: Run.

Except, run where? The lobby? They might be out there, waiting.

He straightens and shows his palms. "Easy now, you don't have to freak out—"

His words may as well be wind in her sails: she doesn't wait for him to finish. She bursts to the side and pumps her arms, sprinting down the Hall of Discovery in perfect form.

In moments, thunder chases her. Ogre-like feet that boom as they catch the man's weight. "She found me!" He says.

Her heart thunders along with the stampede. Shit. Shit! Who's he talking to?