“All of that sounds like a good compromise. Me, I rifted in at the beginning of Harvestmere. I keep track,” because of course he does. “I always found it funny that August here is still August. It’s fascinating how the multiverse lines up sometimes, those synchronicities existing.”

But before Stephen can let himself get distracted by that multiversal line of thought, Cosima says you got hit more than most and he sends her a wry look, an arched eyebrow. “Me? No, it’s fine. Nothing more than I signed on for as Head Healer. We have more hands in the infirmary now, too.”

It had in fact been a lot — months of quiet, until suddenly Julius’ poisoning, four patients recovering from abduction, the attack on the Gallows, everything hitting too close to home — but. That’s everyone. They’ve all been affected here, and others more than him. All those names, the list of the dead he barely knew. There’s that squirming guilt, at knowing he had come out so relatively unscathed.

“I could be saying the very same to you, Provost. Do you have a personal assistant yet? No one’s you, but…”