"Okay," says Daniel, the strain of keeping his voice light and not shattering under the pressure of an incipient breakdown probably extremely audible.

He closes his eyes and leans against the wall, head back.

"All right."

The jangling feeling that tangibility might slip from his fingers without warning is inescapable. He braces his palms against the building's reassuring solidity, as if that would keep the fabric of unreality from being ripped from him.

"I'm dead, aren't I?" he says, eyes reopening to regard the ceiling with a dull lack of surprise. "That figures. It was only a matter of time."