Though there was no heart to beat in his chest it still thundered in his ear and fluttered painfully as his eyes studied the phantom in front of him. Hidden within the veil, Abraham was able to let himself linger on every little detail and time grew stagnant for him again. A piece of his history seemed to have been plucked from his heart and brought to life along the Midway and he could hardly believe his eyes. That ghost of a heart rose up into his throat as he moved closer, close enough to touch, and all his energy seemed to pulse. It was frenetic and fragile and difficult for him to grasp and hold onto. Just as it seemed as if he could contain himself enough to manifest, his uttered name scattered him apart once again.
Abraham felt as if he had been dissipated and that was a sensation that unsettled him to the point of panic. Dissipation spread him impossibly thin as if it could break everything he was down into its most basic parts and that detachment from himself left him feeling unreal. Scrambling to pull himself together, Abraham focused on Ciaran. He had always been his grounding, the one thing in the world that could pull him back and Abraham needed that.
"Ciaran." His voice was ghostly, disembodied, but it was louder and clearer than he thought he could muster. "It's me," Abraham finally answered, voice full of raw emotion as he continued to struggle to pull himself together. Without his pocket watch, Abraham was unable to follow the stream of time and instead trained his eyes on Ciaran until he felt whole again. A few moments longer and he gathered enough energy to appear as he fidgeted with his collar, trying to hide the old wound.