Hopeless shook his head, half to throw off the contrary opinions, the wallowing grief and guilt--and, above all, the resounding, aching question of how did we come to this? It was the one thing in which everyone was united, and the bitter wonderment of the thought was cutting.

"That's enough," he said, softly but with carrying tones, so they could all hear it. "That's--that's enough. No more hiding. No more assuming. Just--"

He stopped suddenly, and blinked, as a pair of very familiar minds oozed through the Hotel's unique interdimensional positioning, and his face turned toward the door into the lobby just before Dexter burst in. He was dragging Rover with, almost bowling Skulduggery over in the process.

Dexter stopped short just out of the doorway, his chest heaving and mind only clear due to that single-mindedness which was, frankly, exactly what Hopeless had just been talking about--an element of running. Dexter's gaze fell on Anton, and then on Ghastly ... and then on the rest of them, on Hopeless and Saracen and Skul and--

Dexter stared at Erskine for a moment, and Hopeless felt it when his mind ticked over from 'bursting emotional dam' to 'complete and total shutdown'. He shook his head and opened his mouth and nothing came out; so he sagged instead, with an exhaustion not just physical, and went to prop up Bespoke with a hug.

"--stop running," Hopeless finished. "It's time to stop running. Everyone. Just ... please."

His head hurt.