The group of ten reassembled at a small Italian restaurant six blocks from LuthorCorp Tower. Lana was grateful that the place wasn't too upscale. She'd been out of her element enough today and wouldn't have trusted herself to handle more of it. The Luthors were only slightly more casual than they had been a few hours before (except for Lillian, who had replaced her blouse and skirt ensemble with a dark blue cocktail dress, so about the same). Though the fellows were, understandably, nervous to be in such a setting with the famous trio, it didn't take long for Lionel and Lex to take the edge off with lighthearted chatter.

The venue was deceptively spacious, and not very busy. They'd put three tables together to fit all the fellows, specifically to accommodate one named Geraldo (he insisted that everyone called him Gerry), who was in a wheelchair. Oddly, it didn't seem to sit well with some of the staff. Lana figured that being as famous and rich as they were, the Luthors were not denied something very often. Though in this case, it would've also been in poor taste not to accommodate a disabled person, so really, what were they going to do?

Without the stress and expectations of being in another professional setting, Lana was much more relaxed and able to remember everyone's names this time. Aside from her and her new roommates were: Gerry, who was rather lighthearted with tanned skin, wavy black hair, and glasses; Sitara, an Indian woman with three piercings in each ear, an extensive vocabulary, and bangs; Daron, who was rather short and had a booming laugh while also an angry-looking resting face; and Margaret, who was Korean, had a slight accent and a penchant for dirty jokes. All of them seemed to mesh well for the most part, though everyone did not contribute equally. Lionel, Takeia, and Gerry talked the most, with Lex and Sitara interjecting frequently. Lillian, Daron and Lana didn't offer much in the way of new subject matter but did offer responses time to time. Lena and Margaret talked the least. Lana enjoyed how personable the Luthors were. They had a decent reputation bolstered by good press, but it was another thing entirely to witness it for yourself. Even as the food came, they were amiable as ever to the staff.

"Wow, this soup is great," said Gerry halfway through. "Not as good as my boyfriend's sancocho, though, but still great."

Lana snorted and swallowed a bite of pasta. "Is anything as good as sancocho though?" she smirked. It had been a while since she'd had some, but it had immediately cemented itself as one of her top five favorite dishes once she'd tried it. Chloe had taken her to a Latin restaurant in Central City last year and in the month following she'd ordered it six more times.

Gerry laughed and nodded, nudging Lena who was sitting on his left. "See, she knows."

Lionel gestured to the television screens mounted above the bar a few yards away and had everyone looking. They were all playing the news. Lana saw a story about an airplane, but was bummed that she couldn't hear it from where they were sitting. Lionel rectified that problem.

"That is a joint project between Boeing and LuthorCorp. Some of you may have heard about it, some may not have, but I want all of you to internalize this. This aircraft is a supersonic transport designed to carry civilian passengers or cargo while being as fuel efficient as possible. I'm sure you all can extrapolate the implications of having something like this at one's disposal. It took several years to get through the negotiations between LuthorCorp and Boeing to even greenlight this project and longer still to reach the finished product you see here. Today it took its maiden flight from New York City and will be landing here in Metropolis within the next half hour or so. The whole point of this fellowship is to bring ingenuity, ambition, and a diversity of experiences from young and old minds alike together so we can make masterpieces like that. Hopefully one day each of you will have a venture with your name on it."

Having done her research beforehand, Lana had heard about the project. She stared at the television. All the work and study she'd done in college had gotten her here, but she'd be lying if she said she felt prepared. The vastness of the unknown future laid itself out in front of her and on the horizon she saw a bright spot, a goal she'd been holding onto since her first science fair. Money and fame weren't something she'd considered when so young (though now they didn't seem so bad), but influence was everything to her. Even in grade school she'd been privy to the lack of influence she'd have first as a kid and then later as a woman. So when Lana built a small radio in sixth grade, eyes alight with focus and spirit, she told herself that one day she'd do something big enough to change the world. Now she told herself she'd do something even bigger than a supersonic transport capable of sending food, medicine and supplies to disaster victims with unprecedented speed.

Lana looked across the table at Lena. She had the same determined look in her eyes. The crease in her brow and tensed jaw were accentuated by the slight curve of her lips, giving her a look that radiated dominance and a certain passive comfort with power. Then it was gone, fading into an expressionless face as Lena went back to eating.

/

The editor-in-chief of the Daily Planet was not fond of having a messy office or an even messier desk, but a busy workday had a way of throwing a wrench into what he wanted. Perry White checked his phone and left his dilapidated workspace reading a text from his husband asking if he'd be home in time for a late dinner. He replied that he would.

Perry had called a meeting earlier and now, making his way to the conference room closest to his office, he regretted that idea and chastised himself for not waiting until tomorrow morning. Most of tomorrow's paper had already been put together, but it was always better to know what would be in store for the next day ahead of time. Still, a lot of this could probably be done by email.

"What've we got, Ron?" said Perry, taking a seat at the head of the conference table. It was nice to see that everyone else had gathered before him for a change. The two overhead screens on the far wall were muted, playing the news from different channels but both showing coverage on the supersonic flight.

"New stuff? Not all that much, at least nothing big. Protests of the pipeline projects are already covered and Cat's still out working another school shooting story," Ron answered, twirling a ballpoint pen through his fingers. He nodded to the screens. "Lois is still on the supersonic flight, of course."

Perry clenched his jaw solemnly, nodding. One thing he hated about working in news for thirty years was how often he had to report the bad. There was always something awful going on, no matter how slow the day was.

He sighed, moving on. "Steve, you're still on sports. Cover the Monarchs day game tomorrow against the Knights and see if you can get an interview with Julius Reyes. He's hot right now."

"Got it," said Steve automatically. "Hopefully we'll sweep Gotham."

"Don't get your hopes up. Maria, where's your piece on the president's meeting with the Canadian prime minister?"

Maria Castela scribbled in her notepad. "In the Dropbox, Mr. White. I emailed you a few other stories I found that might be newsworthy as well."

"Great. I'll take a look." Perry surveyed the room. They were all restless, including him. He figured he'd cut this short after a little brainstorming session. "Speaking of which…does anybody else have stories you want to run by me? And I mean good ones, not the filler stuff. We're overflowing with that already."

Steve perked up immediately. "Rebecca Carstairs just got engaged. Second time in as many years."

"Uh-huh. Keep going."

"A test run for Ferris Aircraft went awry in Coast City and a pilot went missing," said Josef Shuman.

"Hmm, might have been more newsworthy if it weren't on the other side of the country. Ferris Air is big, though. If nothing else comes up, it's an option. Next."

Ron spoke up again this time. "This year so far is the first time Gotham's crime rate has decreased since 1996. On an unrelated note, there have been more sightings of a mysterious "Monster Man" in Gotham too."

Perry smirked at Ron, who joined him. "Get more info on the crime statistics then run it by me again. Drop the Big Foot angle."

"You sure? I always wanted to get into cryptozoology." Ron's only answer was a dramatic eye roll. "Okay fine."

Perry shook his head, exhausted but in a better mood. He looked around the room again. "That everything?"

Nobody answered, so he took that as a yes. He nodded to himself, winding his mind down to start the end of the day. "Great," said Perry. "We all know what to do. If your normal shift is over you can go, and if not –"

Perry's tired brown eyes flitted over the screens again and stopped. There was a breaking news banner playing across them, and he immediately grabbed the remote control on his side of the table to unmute them. The rest of the room turned to the screens to find an anchorman relaying the news.

"–have just received word that the maiden flight of Boeing and LuthorCorp's L707 supersonic airliner is experiencing a midair emergency. Reports say that upon its descent the aircraft hit a flock of birds at 24000 feet, causing it to lose both engines. Shrapnel from its left engine has damaged its wing and punctured the cabin…"

/

Lana and the others were split between two conversations on opposite halves of the table. They weren't loud but certainly animated, dipping heads low and leaning in to participate. Lionel was engaging the fellows closest to him with a story about an old business rival when Lex, sitting at his right off the head of the table, nudged him gravely. "Dad," he said, pointing to the screens above the bar. "Something's wrong."

Breaking news banners were playing across the screens, and Lionel immediately got up to get closer. Lana, Lex and Lena followed right behind him. They stopped at halfway to the bar, but it was close enough. They all heard what was going on.

Lionel excused himself to make a call while Lex and Lena stayed put, watching the news as if in a trance. Lana headed straight to the bathroom, taking her phone out of her back pocket on the way. Nobody was inside, and Lana counted her blessings. With mind and heart racing, she made a call.

/

Clark walked up to the edge of the platform where his ship rested. His cape swung behind him, licking the back of his calves. He'd been in the suit for hours now, training or just hanging out in it to get used to how it felt. Clark had taken to it immediately, reveling in how the foreign materials felt and taking pride in the fact that he'd helped design it (down to the small sealed pockets, located on his lower back behind his erector spinae). His phone, which he'd put in one of them, began vibrating continuously, signaling a call. He answered.

"Hey Lana, what's up?"

"Clark?"

His whole body tensed, instantly registering the fear in Lana's voice. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"There's, uh…there's a plane–a supersonic plane flying from New York to Metropolis. Both engines are blown out and there's a hole in the cabin." Clark could tell Lana was trying to keep cool, but her voice shook despite its strength. She started to ramble. "The left wing is damaged. It has to fall fast at first to make sure the passengers don't lose oxygen b-but the flight pattern is unpredictable with part of a wing gone. Clark…there's almost a hundred people in there and I don't think that plane can land."

A wealth of understanding flowed between them. Clark heard her silent plea. Lana was afraid for them and so was he, in addition to his worry over other things. There were so many logistical things he hadn't figured out yet. They hadn't talked about the implications of his decision in the context of their relationship or even what he thought his personal relationship was to humanity. But now there was no time to quell the fear, for himself or for those people. It was one thing to hear about disasters on the news; they were always over before you knew anything about them and even if you did there was nothing you could have done to stop it. For Clark it was different. Thanks to Lana, this time he had a chance.

"How much time do I have?" he asked, his voice taking on a clear, commanding tone mixed with an odd softness. It surprised even him.

"If the plane suffers any more damage, not even a few minutes."

"Got it."

Clark ended the call and retrieved his teleporter while returning his phone back to his pocket, at breakneck speed. He activated it, coming to stand in Martha's living room in Keystone City a second later before leaving the device on the coffee table. No one was home, and he was glad that his mother had not been present to witness the abrupt intrusion. He moved to the window facing the alley behind the building, and opened it wide enough to slip through into the air high above the concrete. Shooting straight up into the sky over the city, he pushed hard, steadily gaining speed and altitude until he was cruising in the higher half of the troposphere at almost triple re-entry speed. Clark felt his heart in his throat. He'd never gone anywhere near this fast before.

Slowing as he reached the southwestern edge of Metropolis, he scanned the sky for miles to pinpoint the plane. He pursed his lips in frustration, using his x-ray vision to see through the mess of clouds. There were a couple of airplanes below him, ascending and descending, but those seemed to be fine. Then he saw it – a white and green airliner falling at an awkward angle with half the left wing missing and the right engine still burning.

He x-rayed the cabin while making a beeline for the plane. There were injuries, but nobody was dead. The oxygen masks were down and the passengers were buckled down in their seats. Small miracles.

Unfortunately there were still three problems. The plane was already less than 10,000 feet above the ground. The hole in the left side of the cabin was big enough for a person to fit through, which would've been enough of a hazard even if it wasn't affecting the plane's ability to fly. Lastly, part of a wing missing. Coming up on the plane, Clark gritted his teeth at the difficult situation but figured he could kill two birds with one stone if he moved fast enough.

He climbed higher, shooting up to roll over and back down directly above the right wing of the plane. One short thin blast of heat vision severed most of it, and he dove to catch the back edge of the wing in his hands and tear it off. Rolling up and left again he dropped to synchronize his fall with the plane's, carrying the end of the right wing. He overshot it a bit, stopping just in front of the large hole. Clark made the mistake of momentarily looking inside the cabin. Amid the cacophony of hammering heartbeats, he heard screams as well. Three people were now looking at him with complete incredulity: two older men in matching polo shirts sitting next to each other holding hands, and a young woman sitting on the other side of the aisle next to them. Her long, dark straightened hair that was blowing partly in her face, and the press pass clipped to the lapel of her navy business suit flapped wildly. Her eyes were a dark brown and opened wider than Clark had ever seen a pair of eyes. The whole thing lasted for a second, but Clark chastised himself for the wasted time. He went back to work.

Clark pulled back, lining up the flat side of the wing fragment with the side of the plane. It was more than enough to cover the hole, and this time he used his heat vision softly, focusing more on heat than force to weld the metal in place. The cabin pressure was now as stabilized as it would get and the weight of the plane was more evenly distributed, but it couldn't stay horizontal with no engines and half wings. The cabin, which was already falling fast, fell into a nosedive and now he was doing the same.

He couldn't just catch the plane from the front. The nose would crumple and he had no idea how much damage the inertia would cause. Pulling the plane at any point would cause pieces to rip apart. "Come on, Clark. Think," he muttered to himself.

Aligning his body with the plane, Clark skimmed the bottom of it with his back until he came to rest just under the nose. He tucked his head down and spread his arms out at his sides against the metal, flexing his wrists to keep himself in place. Leaning his back into the metal, he pulled his legs in and flew upward fast to give the fall some slope and level it out. The bottom of the cockpit crumpled inward a bit with the shape of his body, but it worked. The front of the plane began to fall more slowly than the back end, and Clark knew he had to be quick to avoid making the plane dive the other way. Keeping the plane horizontal would decrease its terminal velocity and minimize inertial damage. Falling into a somersault, he twisted upside down so that when he came up he was facing the other way, but now under the middle of the plane. He took a deep breath.

Clark spread his arms out again and this time added his legs, slowly flexing harder and harder as the plane fell to slow its descent while he pushed upward. God, I hope this doesn't break the plane in half, he thought to himself. Looking down, Clark's eyes widened as he saw how far they fell. They were now high above Gotham Bay, closer to Metropolis than to Gotham and way too low for his liking. He pushed harder.

Clark could hear the creaking of the metal as it crumpled around him. His heart slammed against his chest in a panic. What if he pushed too hard? If he tears a hole in the bottom with too much force the cabin would split. He couldn't save two halves of a plane this low.

The whole plane began to slow considerably. The sound of bending metal ceased. He smiled broadly and laughed in exasperated relief, sliding off the bottom of the plane and letting it come to rest horizontally in the line of his outstretched arms with his head ducked in the classic Atlas pose. Several hundred feet above the water, Clark and the plane came to a stop.

Less than half a mile off the edge of the bay, Clark could see people gathering at the piers to watch the commotion. He looked around, making an effort to ignore the heartbeats and erratic breathing from inside the plane. He couldn't just drop them anywhere, so he figured he'd take it to the airport, where it was supposed to be anyway.

Clark didn't have much choice but to fly over the northern tip of New Troy, the island center and heart of Metropolis. He was high enough that he could hold the plane and avoid any of the tall buildings, which was more than enough to avoid being seen directly by anyone on the ground. The obvious thing, though, was the expected mass confusion when seeing a huge flying mass stop in midair and slowly float away. That in itself wasn't much of an issue to Clark, but he still hadn't exactly figured out what he was going to do when face to face with strangers that didn't hold some type of societal authority. It would be more than shocking for them. What would he do? Say hi?

He didn't have to worry much until he got to the runways at Metropolis International. He'd ignored the sounds coming from the plane earlier, but now he tuned in. There was enormous chatter coming from the pilots as well as the communications towers around the airport. They were confused, terrified, and angry, and he'd definitely been spotted. Clark felt a wave of anxiety wash over him. This was it, and he felt wildly unprepared. This wasn't just a small rescue or a quick random act of kindness where he could disappear shortly after and nobody would remember him. He just saved a gigantic airplane with a bunch of people inside in broad daylight wearing a form-fitting red and blue suit. There was no coming back from this.

No other plane seemed to be landing just then, but as a precaution Clark decided to head over to the end of the runway away from all the jet bridges. The pilots were obviously paying attention because the wheels deployed as they got closer to the ground. Clark finally lowered the plane until the wheels came to rest on the pavement. He hadn't asked Lana how she knew about the danger, but listening to the voices down the runway he could tell it had been on the news. There seemed to be correspondents and camera crews, some making calls to their respective stations and others running or driving closer to where he was. Clark flew around to the front of the plane. The pilot and copilot were frozen, eyes wide and transfixed on Clark's floating form just outside the front windows. He smiled lightly, holding his hand up in a greeting, then pointed to the back of the cockpit. One of them stayed perfectly still and the other flinched. Clark sighed, raising his hands and eyebrows in placation. He slowly mouthed the word "open" and pointed again.

This time the pilot looked at her copilot, then at the cockpit door, and then back at Clark. He could see all the emotions playing over her face as she slowly got up. Clark exhaled in relief and appreciation and flew back to the plug door. Reaching forward, he jammed his fingers through the metal and casually tore it off to toss it on the ground away from the plane. The evacuation slide deployed and inflated automatically, and the pilots came out of the cockpit to meet him. Clark was still floating.

People outside were coming up on the plane now, but Clark ignored them. Two flight attendants walked up to join the pilots and saw him, eliciting a similar response to the first two. All were female except the copilot, so Clark refrained from x-raying them to assess their injuries. To them it would probably seem like unabashed ogling, and that was not how he wanted to make his first impression.

"Are you all right?" Clark asked with an open expression. He landed in the doorway. Only one decided to answer, a short blonde flight attendant with red-painted nails. She nodded once quickly. Clark gave her a small smile.

"I, uh, know this has been scary and confusing," said Clark, "but everything's going to be fine. I promise. Mind if I get in here?"

The four in front of him now seemed to be looking at his uniform, all with different expressions. No answer came, so Clark just moved to nudge past them.

"What the fuck just happened here?" blurted the copilot suddenly. Clark whipped around.

Not sure how to respond, Clark went with the truth. "The plane got damaged, so I helped. Slowed the fall, then carried you guys here."

A short awkward silence ensued. The copilot's eyes darted around the space and his brow furrowed even further. He spoke again and the others looked between them oddly. "…right."

Clark took a deep breath to calm himself and walked into the cabin. Some passengers were still seated, others were out and hugging people they knew, and a few more were standing in the aisle. His entry commanded most of their attention, and he received a wide range of reactions. Ignoring all of that, he opened up his body language and spoke slowly and clearly.

"Is everyone okay?" Many, surprisingly, answered with a shy nod or affirmative grunt. Clark scanned the area, x-raying everyone. Most were fine with some cuts and bruises, but there were also three people with concussions and a little girl with a broken ulna.

"Good. Now if I can have everyone exit the plane quickly and calmly, that'd be wonderful. You'll need to watch your steps. The evacuation slide is out but you can still hurt yourselves if you're not careful."

Clark exited the plane and to his relief most followed. A small group of news people and runway workers were now gathered several meters from the edge of the slide, chattering. Clark tried to pay more attention to the passengers coming out, but the fact that he was floating in midair above them made him very aware that the cameras were trained on him. His jaw clenched in focus. The wind blew at his cape, and he was grateful that despite its thinness it was neither diaphanous nor particularly light.

Once everyone was out, including the flight attendants and pilots, Clark floated down and addressed one of the runway workers after separating the more injured passengers. "Most of these people are okay but they should get medical attention just in case. These three have concussions, so make sure they don't fall asleep or do anything strenuous for a while. This one has a broken arm, so please be gentle."

"Uh, yeah, sure," the runway worker responded, his eyebrows raised and hands picking at his vest. "Paramedics are already on their way."

He was still nervous as all hell, but Clark could also feel himself gaining confidence with each passing second. He decided to roll with it. The passengers were all still milling around the same area, so he decided to speak with them.

"These guys will take it from here," he said, gesturing to the runway workers in bright vests. Everyone on the runway was looking at him now. Not sure what to do, he smiled softly. "Now, uh…I hope this incident hasn't put any of you off flying. Statistically speaking, it's still the safest way to travel."

"Thank you!"

The words came from the little girl with the broken arm, now leaning against her mother a few yards away and holding her arm gently. She wasn't a baby, but definitely younger than ten years old. Clark couldn't help smiling, and gave her a wave. She waved back. "You're very welcome," he replied.

Taking that as his cue to leave, Clark began to float away. The correspondents huddled a ways away from the congregation of passengers began to bombard him with questions as the paramedics pulled up. One question stood out above the rest, and he stopped to answer it. Only after looking back down did Clark realize that it had come from one of the passengers. The woman he'd seen earlier with the navy suit and the press pass was looking back at him expectantly.

"Who are you?" she'd asked.

Clark's first instinct was to give his name – his Kryptonian name – but something told him that wasn't the way to go. He obviously couldn't give his human name, either. He didn't want to impose a view of himself onto humanity, but at the same time he was being given a chance to control his own narrative, which was something most people weren't allowed to do. This wasn't the time for a full-fledged explanation. Yet, an answer was imperative. So, who was he?

"A friend."

/

Lana couldn't stop smiling. A small part of her was sorry they didn't have more time to prepare for Clark's coming out, but boy, this was a hell of an entrance. Despite the confusion, news outlets were quickly informed of the plane's miraculous recovery and now it was plastered on every channel. At some point, reporters had gotten close enough to get a shot of Clark at the airport, though he'd been up in the air at the time. Lana wasn't sure if Clark did it on purpose or not, but none of them got that good of a look at him despite being so close. They'd gotten his back in high resolution, but not much more than his chin from below or the side of his face when he was on the ground.

The sun was starting to set and almost everyone in the restaurant was on their feet, huddled by the bar to watch the news. Lana and the other nine of her party were clustered in the middle. She was standing between Lex and Lena, who she now noticed had very different expressions. Lena was a mess of confusion, mouth agape and brow creased so that her eyebrows weren't level. She was absentmindedly holding the pendant at her neck in her fingers, skimming the tips over the grooved design. Lex's face was an open canvass of wonder, eyes wide and brows raised. Just barely, Lana could hear him breathe a word. "Remarkable."

/

Perry and the others stared at the televisions in the conference room, flummoxed. Just minutes before, the editor-in-chief was sure that one of his most promising reporters was about to die, and now everything was okay thanks to the appearance of a colorful flying man. What the fuck was going on? People didn't fly.

Contrary to all logic, there it was on camera. Steve looked around the room. "Everybody else is seeing this, right? I'm not tripping balls?"

Nobody answered him, and instead Perry whipped out his phone to call Lois. He'd known the footage was real because he'd seen her there in the crowd on the runway. She picked up after two rings and he put the phone on speaker before laying it on the table.

"Lois? Are you all right?" asked Perry tentatively.

"Hey, Perry. Yeah, I'm good. Just a couple bumps and bruises. No biggie. I'm assuming you're watching the news?"

"Everybody's here. You wanna tell us what the hell we're seeing?"

"Well so far it looks like a man who can literally fly and catch a damn plane falling out of the sky, so…nothing anyone's ever seen before. I'm still freaking out, obviously."

Perry nodded absentmindedly, then shook his head realizing she wouldn't be able to see him nodding over the phone. "Did you get a good look at him?"

"Somewhat. I wasn't that close to him any point but I did see him briefly as he was saving the plane and a bit after. He's cute."

"Focus, Miss Lane."

"Fine. Dark hair, light skin, chiseled features…maybe six-two? Not too sure, he was up in the air most of the time. The cameras here were trained on him, didn't they get a good shot?"

"No."

"Of course not."

"We just see him mostly from the back and a little from the side. I was hoping you'd gotten full frontal."

"Interesting choice of words. Unfortunately I don't have any pictures on my end and he left a little while ago. All I've got is a bunch of unanswered questions, but I guess everyone else is in the same boat. When I asked who he was, all he said was 'a friend.' Which was, like, endearing but also really annoying."

Ron chuckled. Perry leaned in over the table closer to the phone. "Okay. Anything else?" he said.

"Well, on the plane I saw him cover the hole in the cabin with something from the outside. Flying, obviously. Looking at it from the outside now it looks like part of the wing welded to the side of the plane to keep it in place. I have no idea how the fuck he did that. You think he carries a blowtorch around?"

"Sure. Why not? That would be the least weird thing about him."

"I'm going to see if I can get my bags soon. I'll head over there and help with the changes. It's gonna be a long night."

Lois hung up, leaving the conference room staring at the phone. Perry retrieved it, wondering when people had stopped saying "bye" when hanging up. She was right, though. A story like this was front page news, especially since it happened in Metropolis. This was a game changer right in their backyard. As much work as this was going to be, it was absolutely something the Daily Planet had to capitalize on. Every other news outlet would be covering this, and getting the jump on it was essential both in print and online.

"Okay," commanded Perry. "I'm sure all of you know what we have to do. I want all hands on deck covering this or getting information in some way, shape, or form. Interview the passengers, the pilots, the runway workers, anybody and everybody. Check social media. Talk to Boeing and LuthorCorp – it was their plane. Get the full scoop on the damage and find everything you can on this man in the sky. Let's move."

The room dispersed immediately and he followed them out, taking a deep breath. Perry texted his husband. He wasn't going to make it home for dinner.