“Do you think it’s Gabriel? Maybe he got hit on the head and he’s lost all memory of who he was, and now he identifies as a bird, and we’ll find him in there with his wings out and his eyes all cuckoo as he tries to communicate to us in bird language.” “Your imagination scares me sometimes,” Dante murmured, then pressed his hand to the wall. “We’re coming, Gabe!” I called then formed my lips into an O, whistling to him in case that was all he understood now.
