How much can Cullen do, though? How much can any of them do?

There's nowhere safe. Not if --

He opens his eyes, blinded by panic, laboring for each breath. Cullen's here and Cullen's holding him, but there's nothing he can do. Gripped with the utter certainty that one of those green tendrils of light will smash through the ceiling at any moment, he buries his face against Cullen, unable to say anything coherent but Maker, Maker.

(It hasn't been this bad for a while.)