"Hmm. Sorry about that." The apology seems to carry a cadence that goes deeper than the fact that William missed out on this otherdimensional educational experience. Something to do with the spoiled dream, probably. Or why he's here at all, insinuating himself into fine weather and architecture built to make a man feel powerful.

William turns. Backs up to the rail and boosts himself up to sit on it. This would be tremendously dangerous in real life; each story of the mansion is unusually tall, and they are a few stories up. Here, though, the wind plays with his hair and the edges of his lucky shirt, but is incapable of wounding him. He is as much in his element here as Charles is in the waking minds of people, some exceptionally stubborn, insane, or otherwise contrary psychic personages excepted. He looks at the Englishman and folds his hands together on his lap.

He says, "I have to ask you for a favor. I lost somebody, with recon syndrome, and I'm having a real bitch of a time trying to find him by myself."