Right. If. Sunshine presses her lips together and stares down at the knife, remembering what she did with it, remembering what she did with her hands. The surrounding darkness suddenly feels less like a benign annoyance and more like a looming threat. Anything could be out there.

He could be out there.

"Hey," Dom says sharply, and she feels the prickle of his feet moving across her neck until he can tap his foreleg against her faintly glowing necklace-scar. "Sheer." Her knife, too, is brighter than it had been a moment ago, warming her palm like a hot cup of tea.

Gods. Get it together, Sunshine. It's just a damn dream, and the more of a show she puts on, the more of an explanation she'll owe.

She inhales, and her scar fades. The knife stays brighter, but she doesn't have it in her to tell it to cool it. It can stay that way, if it wants.

Right. Let's just pretend that didn't happen. "What do you work with?" she asks, risking a brief glance up at Castor.