Every shift and fluctuation in the Rift's impossible composition is an unavoidable prickle against the brightness of his senses. Is this how Lucifer feels all the time? Even the barest rustling of wings is a welcome, if alarming, distraction, and it occurs to Daniel just how much of Lucifer is folded into the insufficient human body he's in. Existing as a form intangible is the closest approximation to that arrangement, shaping himself after the familiar build and configuration of the body Daniel was when he lived.

"You're confined now," he can't help but observe, nor can he scrub the intrigued note from his projection's tone. Subterfuge between beings of equal perception is difficult even without an irregular entity cloaking an entire city and suppressing them with it. "The skin you're wearing."