[ Something slavering and stocky moves past Jim and Pitch silently calls the Fearlings back, seeing very clearly what the Captain cannot: that they're circling like lions, just beyond where the torch's light is cast. They obey the unspoken order but they're like bees in a hive, thrumming in the shadows. ]

I will be frank with you, Captain: I dislike that tone.

[ But Jim's fear, his anxiety, it's singing like a harp note through the underground station and it's delicious. As easy as it would be to wrap him in a tendril of shadow and fling him out of his home, the Boogeyman wants to keep feeding that fear, not have it turn to anger-- like souring otherwise good milk. ]

But I know you are under duress and I will let it slide, this time. If you are so insistent in searching down here, then it makes good sense for me to expedite it. Look away for a moment, it will seem brighter than it is.

[ Pitch moves towards one of the wall mounted brass lights, now tarnished with age but it turns on at his touch, a very dated yellow incandescent glow -- nothing like the clean fluorescent he's probably used to -- spills across the tile towards Jim. ]