The fact that he's not entirely corporeal at the moment is lost to him, though later he'll wonder how he managed to slip through the crowded hall, up the stairs, and through the door (did he open it - he doesn't remember opening it) into the small apartment that sits in the loft above the business.

Her presence is an afterthought.

The rooms are empty - he searches them regardless.

And then he sees it - sitting on a shelf in a corner of the room. Two wooden plaques, both inscribed with characters (names) he recognizes. The incense sticks that smolder beside them send drifts of smoke curling into the air -- but despite the movement of the breeze through the room, Doc feels as if he can hardly breathe.

He's gone still, frozen in place like his bones are suddenly made of lead, like his veins have frosted over with ice. His voice makes an attempt at speaking, but he fails at first - eventually, when he does speak, it's low and forced.




"Y'probably can't tell me how it happened, can you."