He knew it was coming, but the way the scenery blinks out of existence still hits him like a freight train.

This isn't Rosswood.

This isn't Brian's house.

This isn't his apartment.

This isn't

This isn't

this isn't

HE'S FINE.

He's...not on the ground, exactly, but he's leaning hard against the ridge of the mana pool, one knee digging into the dirt. The camera's pulled up close, digging into the skin of his face. Is it on? Is it recording? Is it recording? Is it

Right, it's dead. It's broken. It's fine. He's fine.

Is he breathing? He's breathing. It's fine.

Tim's here. He can see it, can see him, out of the corner of his eye.

His voice is still strained, still an odd, slurred monotone, but he manages a few words. "Did we make it?"