Emmanuel doesn't move, at least not consciously--he sways as the bottom drops out of his stomach, and his heart pounds in his ears. The knuckles of the hand gripping his phone are white, and there's a sudden weight in the other, cold and smooth. It's a metal blade about the length of his forearm, and the highly polished surface glints with whatever light is left in the cavern.

He hasn't quite processed the danger yet, however, or his new acquisition, and all he does is grip it automatically so it doesn't fall, twisting to follow the sound of the entrance collapsing.