Thought so. [ Stephen's eyes look him over, unnaturally accustomed to the dark. Is there an orange glow to their edges? A horizontal slit to his pupils? Probably not, probably just a trick of the small amount of moonlight creeping in through the apartment window behind him.

He sighs, makes a flourish with his hand. A globe apparates above his palm and he gestures it toward the stranger. It floats toward the man and takes on a soft orange glow that lights up the hallway, revealing Stephen to be nothing more than a tired old man in a collared pajama shirt. ]

Here. That'll hover over your shoulder for an hour or two, enough time to... pen a letter with quill and ink, or whatever you Paul Revere people do.