Finally he manages to zero in on a familiar mind — or more like a set of them, narrowing it down further than that, while something he can do, is difficult when he's distracted by literally every other element of the riots, every other mind that doesn't have some kind of psychic protection.

Where are you? Are you okay?

He used to be really good at this, could send and receive thoughts from kilometers away, could filter out exactly what he wanted, sense things like fear, pain and anger from a distance and respond immediately. But that was years ago and this is a skill he only just begun relearning recently; he can't block anything out, it's all there, where he is — he can see the cross-street from here, it's a part of Griss Twist he's been to before, there's a secondhand shop he goes to a lot down the block — who he's with, that he's in pain, because it's really hard to ignore. He's still reluctant to ask, but he can't get up and walk away and sitting out here isn't safe. I need backup — I mean, help.

He opens his eyes. "I found someone," he says, voice creaky. "But I don't know if they can make it out here. Are you okay?"