The panic stirs, like wingbeats striking the inside of his ribs. Alistair clenches his fingers tighter around the knife's hilt.

Breathe. In for a long count of five; out for the same count. It soothes a little of the nerves. Not enough to unstick him from where he sits. The shadows could transmogrify when he's not looking. The guards could fail. He --

"I can't."

This is the best place to stay, to make utterly sure, he can't just --