Logan turned the bottle around in his hand and pointed his light directly at it. Looked real, felt real, but so had the bike and everything else. "Yeah," he said belatedly. "Kind of assumed it was an illusion." But if the cabin had been an illusion, then how had the beer gotten here? Unless the whole place was an illusion, and none of this was happening, which was a little too existential for him.

"Let's just get the hell out of here," he said, dropping his flashlight beam. Whether it was real or not, he was going to drink this goddamn beer later, and then he was going to find something to cut. (Hit, he had to remind himself mentally: he was going to find something to hit. Wouldn't be as satisfying, but at least if it was a person, they'd stay alive to give him answers if he was just hitting them.)