Sciel was frantically explaining that she had never seen this man before, her voice trembling as she told the guards how terrified she was that he knew so much about her family. One guard was busy calming her down, while the others pinned Verso's shoulders against the mattress.

  In the middle of this theatrical chaos, Verso was having a minor epiphany. If Sciel was here, living a perfectly boring, functional life, then the rest of the people from Lumiere had to be here, too. That meant Alicia was out there somewhere. His poor sister, the one who never had a chance to live a normal life, might actually be eating a sandwich in this world right now.

  He missed her. He wanted to find her, apologize for the whole "end of the world" thing, and maybe tell her that things would be okay.

  But for now, he had a therapist breathing down his neck. "Why did you do that, sir?"

  As a lifetime liar, Verso could conjure a lie as easily as breathing. "I thought she resembled someone I knew," he said, his voice smooth and weary. "The woman I remembered had a husband named Pierre. Maybe there are doppelg?ngers in the world. Who knows?"

  Of course, nobody actually believed him, but Verso had muscled through a century of life largely on the strength of his lies. And his swords, occasionally. But he always preferred the lies as a preemptive strike.

  "I am really sorry if I frightened the lady. I would never do it again," he added, his overly polite manner beginning to work its magic on the strangers in the room. "You can kick me out of the hospital now. Just give me a set of clothes and I will depart."

  "Well, but how did you guess the exact name of her husband?" the counselor asked, unimpressed. "It’s not exactly a common name around here."

  "It is common in my country. France." Verso recalled the name all the nurses had mentioned. There had to be a place called France, and it had to be similar to Lumiere. "I just brought up the first name that came to my mind. And Sciel? That's a common name too."

  The people in the room didn't necessarily believe a word he said, but they didn't have a solid reason to call him a liar, either. He looked far too composed and sane to be locked in a high-security ward. So, the therapist Dr. Blair took her seat and started with the basics, glancing at the barely legible scribbles Dr. Pelton had left for her.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  "So... let’s try this again. Where exactly are you from?" she asked. "The notes say you're from France. Is that right?"

  "Yes." Verso hoped she’d leave it at that. He knew his original family lived in a place called Paris, but his knowledge of the local geography ended right about there.

  "And your name is?"

  "Verso Dessendre."

  "How and why did you come to the US, Mr. Dessendre?"

  So, this place was called the 'US' and not just New York. Verso made a mental note of it. "Well... I woke up here. I don't actually remember how I arrived." At least that part was true, seriously.

  "You don't remember taking a plane? You don't remember the trip at all? What happened back in your hometown?" Dr. Blair waved the security guard back a few steps, sensing the man wasn't a physical threat as much as he was a walking riddle.

  "I... uh..." Verso scrambled for a narrative that wouldn't involve explaining dimensional shift. Most lies wouldn't cover the sheer scale of what had happened, so he leaned into the amnesia angle. "I don’t remember much. There was a massive earthquake in my town."

  It wasn’t a lie; it was just a massive understatement of a world-ending event.

  "I lost my family. I lost my friends. And then... suddenly, I was here," he continued. In the grand scheme of things, it was almost the truth. "I’m just confused. I can’t recall anything else."

  That last part was a blatant lie, but considering he knew absolutely nothing about how this world functioned, playing the blank slate was his only real move.

  Dr. Blair narrowed her eyes. As a professional, she could smell a lie from a mile away, but she also saw the genuine signs of a man who was mortally depressed.

  "Alright, so no papers, no address, just a name and a convenient case of amnesia?" she asked, already mentally scrolling through the list of shelters she could kick him into.

  "Exactly. Now, what happens to me, doctor?" Verso asked, his voice resigned. He could survive practically anywhere, but he held out a flickering hope that this world didn't involve a dungeon.

  "There are only two paths from here: a mental ward or a shelter," Dr. Blair said, finishing her notes with a sharp flick of her pen. "We have a private shelter contracted with the State, and that’s where you’re headed. It’s mandatory, not an option. You'll have to undergo regular counseling to ensure you’re not a threat to society."

  She didn't care how alluring he was. A nutjob was a nutjob, and her shift was almost over.

  "A shelter? But doctor—" Verso started, but Dr. Blair wasn't in the mood for a debate.

  "No 'buts.' Do you want a one-way ticket to Bellevue, or would you prefer a civilian shelter run by a nice couple? Believe me, you do not want to go to Bellevue," she said, her tone carrying a very clear, very New York threat.

  Verso had no idea what a 'Bellevue' was, but he could tell from her face that it was the local equivalent of a dungeon.

  "...Alright, doctor."

  He gave in. If things went south, he could always fall back on his old habits. He had killed his own father to escape from his fate, so carving a path out of a civilian shelter would be a Monday morning exercise by comparison.