Jo was still upstairs, trying to push everything into her bag that she could still find.

Anything that had touched the floor was soaked, when it wasn't both soaked and already in the hallway, or down the stairs and into another room already. How many hours? How long had this been happening? It'd been dry and silent when she went to the Inn in the earlier hours of morning. She hadn't even looked back. Everything she could find on the bed, on the sink, on tabletops dry and soaked alike was shoved into her bag.

She shoved harder and faster at the shout of her name and though she wanted to run out, her shoulder was already aching from her earlier stupidity of going too fast. And this was even more precarious. The floor was too soft in so many places. Sending her stumbling, and half jump, half dancing from the spots it seemed to turn toward putty under her feet. The last things she wanted to do was go tumbling straight through the floor and the ceiling.

Especially when she could barely heal at all now.

Even if it was better her than Thorfinn. The same height, but smaller. Lighter.

Jo made it to the railing, and shouted, "Incoming!" Before heaving the bag toward Thorfinn, who'd been joined by Kate.