The cellar they were searching was pitch black, which was okay because some light was coming through the trapdoor above them, and Ianto, efficient as always, had a torch.
At least he did until Owen, shifting an old sofa to look behind it, bumped into a stack of boxes, which fell on Ianto, knocking him down and making him drop his torch, breaking it.
As Jack went to help Ianto the trapdoor slammed shut, plunging them into total darkness.
“Who the fuck’s standing on my hand?” Ianto yelped.
“Me, I think. Sorry, mate,” Owen apologised.
“You will be!”