“Somehow,” Victor says through his knife-smile “I am not surprised to hear that.”

He holds up a pale hand, giving a vague wave from this wrist.

“I’m just commenting in the vein you’re presenting, mind. I wouldn’t want you thinking I’m saying you’re messy prematurely.”

Folding his hand over the other, he turns a question over in his head like a coin over knuckles.

“What kind of world do you come from? One with drugs, clearly, but what else? Are you from a version of Earth?”