It moves too fast for him to track, raking clawlike hands across Jay's front and trapping him a cage of spined fingers against the deteriorating floor. Lighter in one hand, knife in the other, Tim -

Tim lets it grab him.

Lets it drag him closer.

Every instinct screams for him to bolt, to run, to do anything but sit here patiently and let it reel him in like a fish on a hook, but it pulls him close, close enough for Tim to click his lighter to life and meet its spotlight eyes with a flinted glare.

He holds the stilling flame beneath the shadow's chin.

It wants to hide its face so bad?

He'll give it a reason to.