She says you’re my catalyst, and Palamedes’ chest tightens almost unbearably, with a sadness that tastes sweet, and a relief laden with guilt. How can he feel so much when looking into this woman’s eyes, and yet remember so little? He knows her face, her name, the practical cadence of her voice on a tape recorder. He knows she saved his life, probably at the cost of her own. He knows she looked after Nona, and that Nona would have been so very glad to see her.

He knows they have been apart for so very long, in one way or another, and to just have her standing in front of him is an opportunity so unfathomable he hadn’t even hoped for it in some time.

Their hands touch, pinkies hooking together, grounding them to each other. Pal nods encouragingly as she dabs her nose, even through the protests, and then his mouth twists in a dark smile because what is this place is such a complicated question to answer.

“They are…well, I don’t actually know, which is half driving me mad, believe you me.” He huffs, half a laugh, half a frustrated sigh. “Even the pronoun is more of a theory than an entity; I’m of the mind that someone, or someones, built this reality and are manipulating it in order to study our reactions to certain stimuli, but I can’t prove that. Do you think you can walk a bit further?” He looks her over with a faint frown. “Town is about ten minutes that way, and while it has its faults, it’s much more comfortable than here.”