As the Shadowlord released him, Tony had a strong suspicion that hysteria was one more touch away. He could feel it beating its fists against the inside of his skull. He watched the Shadowlord catch up with Mason. Felt the panic begin to ease with distance. Wanted nothing more than to run. And didn’t. And followed. He didn’t bother hiding, or skulking, or trying to be anything less than obvious. What would be the point?

Lee had moved to the edge of the set and was standing with his eyes closed, holding a cup of coffee. His lips were moving, so Tony assumed he was running over lines. Mason passed him without acknowledgment, but the Shadowlord paused and glanced back at Tony, his expression clearly saying, So, this is the one.

Great. He hadn’t given up Henry, but he’d given up Lee. Or at least his attraction to Lee. Don’t . . . Don’t what, he had no idea. Just don’t.

And the Shadowlord moved on.

Tony released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding just as the color drained from Lee’s face and his eyes snapped open.

Oh, shit!

Spasm.

But the Shadowlord wasn’t touching the actor. Wasn’t even near him.

The coffee mug smashed against the floor, coffee spraying against the shadow that stretched from Lee’s back to the Shadowlord’s heels. It seemed to be driving serrated spikes into Lee’s head.

God fucking damn it!

No lights handy.

What else defeated shadow?

Darkness weakened them.

Gray-on-gray patterns flickered across the floor as a camera rolled into position.

Patterns . . .

Half a dozen running steps took Tony to the edge of the set—the edge of the lights. His shadow fell over Lee’s and the Shadowlord’s, wiping out the definition of the attack, leaving nothing but a formless shape of darker gray on the concrete.

Lee’s breath caught on the edge of a scream and then eased out of him in a wavering exhalation. Then Elaine from craft services was there with a roll of paper towels. And Carol, who was on the lighting crew. And Keisha, the set dresser. With Lee surrounded by concerned women and no place on the floor for new patterns, the Shadowlord’s shadow now extended no farther from his heels than it should.

Tony moved one tentative step away; moved his shadow one tentative step away.

Lee seemed fine.

As Mason ran over his blocking with Peter and Sorge, the Shadowlord moved up to stare through the camera’s viewfinder. He was Mason’s friend, no one would move him. No one wanted to set Mason off and lose an afternoon’s work.