The shadows of the night had completely taken over the master bedroom of the Upper District estate. The artificial lights from the ceiling were turned down low, casting a soft, blue glow over the massive bed that Malcolm shared with Dahmer.
Malcolm's eyelids fluttered open. His head felt heavy, his mind slowly dragging itself out of the deep, dark unconsciousness that had claimed him on the stairs earlier that morning. The terrible images of his hallucination had finally faded, leaving only a dull, lingering ache behind his temples. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his rhythm, and turned his head to the side.
The very first thing his eyes locked onto was the cold, featureless surface of Dahmer's gray-charcoal mechanical mask. Dahmer was sitting right on the edge of the mattress, his frame perfectly still, his dark visor reflecting the blue light of the room as he stared down at the Alpha.
