"Oh my god," he squeaks out, burying his mouth in both hands as he tries not to yell too loud about something that clearly already happened, when yelling wouldn't fix it or solve anything. The squeak goes on for a few seconds, a tea kettle sound of his inability to resolve the mental image of this kid just blithely walking off a roof or cliff or something, and he glances around for her minders. Clearly there's gaps in coverage.