They'd stayed out of the way but ready, her and Charlie both, but when the moment comes it still almost takes Rosie by surprise. She sees Nick--no, Lucifer, no, Nick--crumple and fall just before the lights flicker, and then there's a stench in the air and she and Charlie are running, not away but towards, both of them going to their knees on a floor sticky with something Rosie forces herself to believe is nothing more than spilled drinks.

"Nick, don't you dare go anywhere," she murmurs as she opens her bookbag, packed with as many clean dishtowels as she could find in her apartment. The first one she presses to the wound soaks through immediately, and Rosie lets out a small, desperate sob before she can stop herself.