Henry's grip tightened around the carved desk. "Why? What's to stop us?" He eyed the front door as though it might lunge at him, which was of course impossible. Or - was it? Molly had just sewn his flesh back up with a flick of her wand. He was in a place that looked like the Savage Lands but clearly wasn't.
He was alive, when he evidently shouldn't have been.
At that thought, his knees threatened to buckle and blood rushed in his ears. What was happening in New London? Who was in charge? So much for trusting soma to smooth away the sharp spikes in his emotional feedback loop. He yanked out his pen again and - stopped with his thumb on the button. Abusing soma when he had so very little of it would be foolish.
"How long does our sojourn here last? There must be a limit." There had to be. The alternative would mean he was never going home.