Neal has no idea what he's doing. He has no idea where to run. He doesn't do this kind of thing, this particular kind of emergency. This isn't something that needs a quick and clever solution. This is just run, run, run, and everywhere he runs there's fire reaching for him like it wants to drag him into its heart.

He hears Eliot's shout just in time, catches sight of the collapsing house, and bolts toward Eliot as it comes down. Flames shoot outward, clawing at his back, and he feels that same sense of savage desire for death that he got from the thing that sent them all here in the first place.

He skids to a halt near Eliot, eyes huge, panic written in every line of his body. "Thanks," he says, the word choked, shouted to be heard over the chaos.