If Amelia was expecting the shade to be helpful she's going to be let down. Stocke's just about as clueless as she is, though he's moved his pendant to floating in between his shadow-black ribs.

"Eat them?" he suggests, eyes flickering like a broken bulb. It's not as though the Fog God expects that much more out of them most of the time, with regards to humans.

But even he's sure enough that's not right. She wouldn't give them additional warning for something that simple. The shade raises his claws again, eyes slit.