[Reaction]
He'd been at the sink, allowing cold water to pool between freckled palms, before he splashed it onto his face. And then, quite suddenly, Newt didn't know if he'd fallen asleep again or what had happened. It wasn't like falling into a Pensieve, all silvery slip of memory, the world operating around you, but with your own perspective firmly in place. No. It was rather like a dream, he thought, but far too specific, and, actually, familiar in a way that wasn't quite familiar at all. It was, in a word, odd. It was curious and clinging, and it left too much of an imprint, colder than the water, for him to forget, as own did the dregs of real dreams.
Newt climbed down into his case once he'd dressed. He took his phone with him, though a few of the creatures found the brightness of its screen personally offensive. He pulled out his manuscript, but flipped to the back of the journal he'd co-opted for his project. There, sheafed into the spine, were a few loose leaves of paper with the bones of moments, notes taken, instances. There was a page or two about Adrian's other half, even. And the man wrote out the experience he'd just had down to the last detail, as much as he'd been able to remember. He then pulled out a few of his -mancy books (the various divination arts), and flipped through them, wondering if he'd find any omens in a false sky and a child's stuffed toy sheep named Carlos.