"Alright," he snaps, also trying to keep his voice low. "If you actually think it'll help."

With some reluctance, he shifts the camera from his right hand to his left and awkwardly unfolds the pocketknife. This footage is gonna be shaky as hell, if it even comes out at all. At least he's finally out of the wrist brace.

Tim says he has to 'accept' his shadow, which he guesses lines up with what they've been saying. "What does 'accept' even mean here? It's not like I'm gonna run up and give it a hug, or--"

With a piercing hiss of static, the shadow's claws (claws? did it always have claws?) curl around the doorframe, and its white-masked face peers into the room, obscured by thick clouds of steam.

Jay's voice catches in his throat, and he tries to still his breathing.

There's a low, mechanical click, and two narrow cones of light reach from the eyes of the mask like headlights--like searchlights. They sweep across the room slowly, carefully.

It hasn't spotted them yet.