The cub made another distressed noise and started what had to be his millionth lap around the room. This day was quickly working its way up Clint's list of worst days. If things didn't improve drastically, it might settle in the top ten. He glanced at Loki, snorted, and changed direction.

There had to be windows he could reach. Or a door. Or a vent. Vents he could work with. Ears perking, Clint changed direction again and walked along the wall until he found one. With no better idea coming to him, he sat down on his haunches and frantically started clawing. It did a good job of making noise, but not much else.