"No," he answers, low. "This is fine."

The music fades to silence as they descend the stairs. Absently, Alistair tucks his arms around himself to ward off some of the clammy chill.

(It's familiar, the same way the green light is familiar. It calms him further: another piece falling away. This'll be over soon.)

When they reach the library, he leans against one of the shelves -- then frowns and sweeps a cobweb off his shoulder.