Jonathan had been laying in bed, attempting to sleep despite the massive headache he'd been nursing all day. According to the boards, he wasn't the only one by any stretch, but camaraderie only did so much for pain relief.
When the flash of light came he thought that his migraine was simply intensifying. Or that he was having an aneurysm. The sight he was greeted with as he stumbled against the stone of the building beside him didn't do much to dissuade him of the fact that his brain was giving him some surreal last gasp.
But no, this was too real to be some kind of hallucination. The crowd was screaming in a language he didn't understand, and in his disorientation, took him a long moment to identify as French.
French?
Then he saw Micah not ten feet down the street, kneeling over a girl with a blood-soaked shirt. Hell.
When a voice came, cold and calculating, to say simply, Leave them he ignored it, not breaking his stride, the wash of cold dread that flushed through him the only real response. Imagining it. That wasn't real.
He skidded to a stop beside Micah, kneeling down. Fuck. "Where's she hurt?"