“The resemblance will fade,” Shriek said. “I’ll be able to take any form I like, soon.” A scratchy voice. As if getting used to his vocal cords.

Shriek rose, and Finch rose with him. An imperfect reflection. Shriek held himself differently than Finch. Shoulders hunched from some invisible weight. A stare less guarded. More expressive hands. Light gathered around Shriek in unnatural ways. A gentle iridescent strobing rippled across his body. It reminded Finch of the starfish in the cavern by the underground sea.

“How do you feel?” Shriek asked.

“I feel light … and yet heavy,” Finch said. Could sense Shriek’s overlay lifted from his mind. Its presence only confirmed by absence.

While all of those things he’d thought himself numb to came rushing back in with a near-fatal intensity. Sintra. Wyte.

Teetered on the edge of an abyss.

Shriek’s voice brought him back: “Let it wash over you. Let it wash out of you. It’s not real. It’s like a dam breaking.”

Finch nodded. Vague resentment: How could Shriek know how it felt?

Shriek wrapped his nakedness in the blanket. Muted the strobing. A shimmer across the face. The arms.

“What now?” Finch couldn’t stop staring at himself.

“Just what Bliss gave you. Just that.”

The piece of metal was still in his jacket pocket. He handed it to Shriek.

Shriek nodded. “Perfect.”

Perfect for what? An unease in Finch. That he hadn’t thought it all through. An urge to pick up his gun and shoot Shriek.

A spark in Shriek’s eyes that originated there. Not a reflection from the light.

“What are you?” Finch asked.

A low, wheezy laugh from Shriek. As if his lungs were filled with spores.

“Just someone who knows too much.”

Finch watched Shriek assemble the metal strip. Must’ve been some button or other mechanism hidden in the symbols. Because in Shriek’s hands the strip of metal clicked, and like some kind of magician he began to pull more metal out of it. Until he had a length of metal as tall as a man. As tall as Shriek.

“Whoever created this also created the doors,” Shriek said as he worked. “But I’ve never found them. Granted, I was more interested in the gray caps.”

“Where did you find it?”

“Bliss found it. Somewhere far, far away.”

Bliss, again. Finch beyond surprise.

“What does it do?”

Shriek pulled it sideways, with a motion almost like pulling apart something soft, crumbly. A piece of bread or a biscuit. A frame began to appear.

“It focuses my abilities. Like a lens.”

When he had persuaded it into a rectangular shape, roughly door-like, Shriek knelt. Pressed the frame into the air like he was hanging a painting.

Let go of it.