Nightingale reforms her shadows, placing a wall between herself and mirror –
– and then the room goes dark. She curses, feeling her shadows all soften and spread in an instant. She pulls her shadows back to her, feeling them slowly drift in her direction. What mass is already close to her she pushes towards Mirror, something that would feel like a wind – forceful, but not solid. At the same time she lunges toward the front of the elevator, jabbing for about where she assumed the buttons would be.