Gansey heard the word "Monmouth" and hastened his last few steps. The voice. It was the last thing he'd heard before he'd been remade, that voice. A voice he never thought he would hear again.

"Noah?" His voice nearly demanded; he felt stretched a little thin and things like breathing were taking up an unusual amount of Gansey's bandwidth. There, unmistakably, was Noah Czerny, more solid than Gansey had ever seen him. The pan dropped with a clang and Gansey stuttered a few steps forward until the thing landed safely on the counter. Could Noah get hurt? He was holding the thing. Corporeal, he thought, or very close. Curiosity got the better of him. He reached out and touched Noah's wrist. Heat. Mass. Real.

"How are you here?" Which raised a better question: "What is this place?"