She doesn't let out a whoop of triumph at the sound of the tower collapsing - she's no longer twenty, and she needs the oxygen besides. She doesn't slow for another few hundred metres, as the brush continues to thicken, to the point where an approach that obscures their passage becomes more useful than raw speed.

Then she looks over at Marc, only then realizing just how much attention she's been paying to the sound of his footfalls, and grins, quick and fierce and a little wild.

"Don't think they'll be putting that one back up."