This particular noise was the herald of a Henry Cheng Word Vomit incoming, and Gansey was overwhelmed with familiar affection. For Henry -- for all of them -- there were no simple answers. Waking up in a strange building to all of his friends eating breakfast surely fell under that category.

As Henry spoke, Gansey understood the words but couldn't grasp them. Multidimensional pocket universe was the kind of thing that wanted to be interesting to him, but there was too much going on for him to try and tease out what Henry meant. That time would come. Another seven or so rants like that one and Gansey may have had an inkling of understanding. Maybe more. Together -- all of them -- they could do anything.

"No, Tulsa," Gansey corrected, expecting that Henry might know that. He didn't. It was all over his face. Gansey backtracked the conversation, reviewing it in his head like the notes in the margins of his well-worn books. "Wait, Litchfield? We were in Tulsa. You, me, and Blue." Maybe time had gone sideways again; that sometimes happened to him now. While things were mostly normal (as normal as things ever were for them), sometimes Gansey experienced time all at once. Things fell out of order or blended together.