Losing sight of him in the roiling melee here makes her as tense as the thought of losing sight of him in battle now does, even knowing with absolute certainty that he lives. That if he's injured he heals, that if he goes down he gets back up. All the same, she's scrambled up a stack of crates for a better vantage point from which to squint and scan the crowd with a soft focus.

There.

There's no need to dodge through the press of bodies, nor to try to evade the blades or blasts, but habit and instinct die hard. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Nari knows she looks absurd, slipping her way through the fight like a flickering fish through thick weeds, but she saves her embarrassment for later. She's only just found him again when he's knocked backwards through her, and she whirls to look to where he's landed.