Sands’ hands drop unnoticed to his sides.

Fifty-four years of memories have just settled on his shoulders, of a life that isn’t even his.

Just on the edge of conscience, his lungs let out all their oxygen in one long, slow hiss, the sound strangely distant in his ears.

“Shit.”

A blind step back, and another, and somewhere along the way he ends up on the floor with a hand pressed to his temple.