Like a demon on his chest, suffocating him. Cohen pushed away the blankets, desperately tearing at his shirt, trying to get free, but to no avail. He lay in bed, staring at the darkness above him, listening to the thud of his heart beat in his ears. He had to get it off. Carefully, so as not to wake Niall, he sat up and went to the door. The room seemed strange, the fire blurry and the walls dark. It wasn't his normal room, was it? Where was he? He felt his way down the hall, to the stairway. His hands tangled in the strings of magic on the railing, and he struggled to pull them free. Trapped, suffocating. He pressed his hands to his chest, clawing at it, but the weight remained. Get free, get free... but where could he go? He stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen, more by feel than by sight. Why was it so dark? And what was he looking for again? There, spread on the counter like dim white spheres, and next to them a clash of silver. Cohen reached for them, sifting through to find the knife.
