It’s one thing to trust Ruth’s conviction that she’s doing the right thing and to affirm that conviction to himself -- no matter how bitter the words taste; he’s too used to being on the front line -- but it’s another thing to know she’s decided to go ahead with it.

He catches the last few words of her broadcast and it’s all he needs, not even stopping to wipe the motor oil off his hands as he takes off at a sprint through the snow to the nearest stairwell. Of course, the place has a sense of humor, or maybe is just determined to make it as difficult as possible, because the nearest stairwell is a good way away. The tunnel stretches long and shadowy and humid, the thudding of his boots echoing off the wall along with the curses and threats that flow under his breath as he runs through the dark.

She’d better not --

Better not be --

He knows the wall she’s talking about and follows its scent and hers through the foliage like a hound. The closer he gets, the more blood he smells. It doesn’t reassure him.

Logan comes skidding out of the foliage, fists already up. He takes in the scene in a single furious glance.

“What the hell did you do?”