Kalim does start to nod -- but it really doesn't make any sense. Jamil is so cool, and so tough, and blisteringly competent, but the monstrous Not Meryl Streep towering over the cinema seats in her dungarees is a far cry from the kind of hired thugs and gunmen Kalim has seen him deal with before. He can't even begin to imagine what Jamil is planning to do about this.

"Jamil, you can't fight this thing!" he protests, anxiously gripping the railing. But it's too late -- Jamil still isn't getting out of here with everyone else, and that massive taloned hand is slamming down towards him --

And then it seems to slow down. Everything seems to slow down. The fleeing crowd, the monster's claws; it's like they're all moving through molasses.

I wish he could have been mine.

It's his own voice, but it wasn't his own thoughts, and he's never sounded so... so anguished? But he doesn't have time to try to figure it out. There's a flash of light, a blaze of heat. He feels like his ears are going to pop. And then there's something in his hand. Somehow he knows what he's supposed to do with it.

"The clouds part! Endless summer...! Sun's light, shine on!"