"I dunno." It's an alarmingly familiar chill, the sensation of being watched, and it makes him sick to think how easy it is to fall back to that old instinct. "It's not - it, I don't think." He shakes his head. The itch at the hindmost part of his skull is too different, too shrill and persistent to belong to that thing. "It doesn't feel - "

His shoulders tense, his back going rigid as it draws closer, or stronger or - something. Like it's coming nearer. Like it's about to reach out and just -

He jerks away from the thing reaching out for him, that he swears was just reaching out for him, ready to wrap spindly fingers around his shoulder.

"Faster," he hisses, making no effort to hide the tremble in his voice. "Come on, move."