Michael’s breath starts coming a little faster. He feels disoriented. The room feels close.
“I was inside a shadow that whole time?”
Sometimes it had stopped—when he’d had to touch things, eat or sleep. But that only makes more sense. Days and nights had looked almost the same, had sometimes seemed to be the other way around, and that makes sense, too. It was always cold. He could walk right into stores and steal anything he wanted.
“Oh god.” He slides his fingers into his hair and tugs.