To an observer's eyes, Daniel hadn't moved at all-- just remained standing stock still looking past the books in front of him, gripping the shelf as if his life depended on it. Frozen in time... but the Master knew it was more than that. This was no mere temporal stasis. He could feel it, whispers of the other man's distress as the psychic trap was sprung and some of the aftermath leaked through the seams.

Thing was, though, the trap hadn't been meant for Daniel.

The Master strode toward him, furious, and gripped Daniel's head roughly, needing to see this for himself. How had a human managed to steal the Doctor's mental signature?

With no preamble, the Master forced his way in, being careful to remain around the edges of the trap. And then his features relaxed; he even laughed aloud in pleasant surprise.

"Oh, you poor, poor thing," he murmured.