The image, alien and monstrous, is burned into his mind, and more than that the absolute dread still roils in his gut like a living thing. He retches a couple times into the pot, but nothing comes out. Greg spends a minute making sure he's truly staying dry, knuckles white and clutching the ceramic.

Eventually, he sags, still holding tight to the pot as he sinks down on the floor, as if it's all he can hold on to. That vision, that monster, had told him two things, deeply and clearly: his son is in absolute danger, afraid and lost in a bigger way than he could have guessed, and also that Greg is helpless to do anything about it.

He doesn't look up at Luce. "You're not going to let me go after that, are you."