Emperor's bones, he says, and that's— that's almost something. It itches in the back of his head, another little migraine-burst of familiarity. But digging at those has only given him dizzy spells and nosebleeds, so John shoulders right past it.

"Palamedes Sextus," he repeats, which is another almost-something, "I'm John."

He reaches out to clasp the man's hand.

"Be my guest."