Gyre flinches away from the noise and the buzzing, hand jerking to the chest pocket where he's kept his phone. He grabs it through his shirt, and then scrabbles through the folds to pull it out, scanning the text, then the garbled name, then the text again.

"Uh, I," he begins, and then he starts to type, I heava. He pauses there, frowning deeply, before speaking again, "Eleven told me to talk to you."