He realizes a moment late that he should have warned Iris. He forgets — his darkness is friendly to him, because he's in full control. It's not the darkness that devoured him down in the belly of that mountain, surrounded by death. The darkness that still haunts him to the point that he can't fall asleep without a bit of light to keep him company and ward off unseen terrors. Sometimes he thinks the Singularity has a weird sense of humor, granting him the gift of shadows as he recovered from that ordeal.

He forgets that to anyone else, all darkness must be the same. And the shadows he creates are uniquely impenetrable, as if darkness is a substance that can thicken. Wilhelm wants to say something more to reassure Iris, but their voices can't be hidden. Talking will get them caught.

So he silently leads the way down the hall to the kitchen. Just as they reach the door, it swings open. Wilhelm flattens himself against the wall and pulls Iris with him as a kitchen worker walks past with a basket of bread.