"We'll make do," Daemon answered, his own voice holding a grim note as he moved deeper down the hall, finding the door they were looking for. The handle was locked, but not securely. He could feel enough give that he was fairly certain he could snap it.

"Hold on," he murmured, drawing on his reduced reserves of power and crafting a Black shield about his hand and flashlight. Satisfied that it would hold for at least one impact, he made it count, slamming the butt of the flashlight handle down at an angle. The handle cracked, crumbling away, and the shield about his hand snapped, making him hiss as he pulled back his hand.

"Well. That worked at least," he muttered ruefully, carefully rubbing his hand where the magical backlash had hit him. "Let's see what they're hiding up here tonight.

[Going to here.]