Edward runs faster than any of his family members without the fact he's feeding twice as often right now still, out races the pack barely started, weaving through hallways. Half depending on the maps in the minds behind him, half on his own path unraveling to Alice about the decisions he will make based on each one he does.

He's halfway to the gate, in a parallel hall when he passes the Carlisle, passes and keeps going. He has to take down one at the gate. One. Not a name, not a face, not a voice or a thought. The only name, the only face that matters is halfway up one of the adjoining hallways and gaining on him for the time it takes to do the act.

But when he looks up -- looks up without once without ever looking at the red cloaked body, only having turned to throw the gate open wide -- he's staring at four tunnels to leave by. Uncertain which one he entered from.

All he can do is think her name. He needs her to tell him.

What to do now. When he chooses one at random.

When he's running into the maelstrom now.