It's pure instinct that makes Matt recoil a little, still on his hands and knees, breathing in, holding it, then letting the air out. Just that movement, the automatic one of his lungs, is enough to drain him, to make his startled movement little more than a twitch. He feels the stars, the almost-clouds, and there's something familiar in them, something he knows.

But he doesn't. He doesn't know anything here, except that he can't trust anything, anyone. So his mind reacts, a flare of something bright and fiery, a comet streaking to earth, rejecting the gentle call.

(Don't! Stay out of my head!)