"Clever," Felix agrees. "Maybe the only way to keep Nocturnal from reclaiming the cowl herself." His solution to the lights is very simple: he orders the atronach to start crushing them as it goes, treading some underfoot and smashing them off their stands. He doesn't know how much shadow they need, but the more the better.

Felix himself proceeds carefully, glancing around the walls and eyeing the floor for further wards. They seem to have reached the limit of the Vigil's security. Besides, there are definitely voices outside, and the sound of the outer doors being forced open in a hurry.

Time for the conjurer to hurry forward and snatch up the Cowl... and it seems so ordinary, in his hand. Just a garment of grey cloth, thick and well-worn yet light and soft to the touch. Felix stares at it, a sort of tremor in his voice as he calls out.

"I have it!"