The room went sideways for a second. Darkness and panic filled the air, then a new sound cut through it all: a thudding, struggling noise as the shrouded figure suddenly collapsed and began to writhe on the floor.
Riley came in hot, chest heaving, hair sticking out in every direction but half-hidden beneath what he hoped passed for a hat. His clothes hung crooked under the weight of everything he'd been hauling, giving him the look of a man who had lost a fight with his own luggage.
He looked ridiculous and determined all at once. But more than that, he planted himself in the doorway while barking, "Cry louder!" at the kids.
For a beat, no one moved.
Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, the children screamed until their throats hurt and the air quivered. The sound was raw and miraculous. It filled the cell, it filled the corridor, it filled Riley's ears and, crucially, it filled every dark corner with noise.
