The child slipped from her arms.
A small weight. Dropping fast.
Her fingers clawed at empty air, panic breaking through her voice—"No—!"
She didn't finish it.
Don moved first.
His eyes flicked down, just a fraction—enough.
The air beneath the falling body tightened. Invisible force caught the child mid-drop, stopping him inches above the polished floor.
His small form hung there, suspended, clothes shifting slightly from the abrupt halt, a faint sway following the momentum—
Don didn't look relieved.
He didn't have time.
Behind him, the strands still pressed forward, held in place by force that trembled at the edges.
His focus split—one hand maintaining the hair at bay, the other holding the child steady.
Charles saw it.
Saw the save.
His own movement halted for half a second—then shifted. His attention snapped forward again, decision made.
He turned.
And moved.
WOOSH—~
