Of all the things that have threatened Wrench's worldview in the short time since his arrival, the concept of magic is one that he seems the most willing to accept. If nothing else, he has a clear baseline for what that's meant to look like. He's read enough books to grasp the general picture, and certainly been in enough situations in his life where inexplicable things have happened. So maybe the woman who is now standing in front of him in all her fully tangible glory is a witch or something like that. A sorceress, able to project images directly into his own mind.

You, he challenges with a decisive point. Even as he gestures at her, the scene wants to take back over. The warm comfort of being tucked at her side. Fingers in his hair. Before he can sort it out, he sees Grady in front of him again and feels the telltale tug of his adolescent partner's hand in his equally youthful mop of coiled hair.

Stop it, Wrench demands. The smack of the side of one hand into the palm of the other mists water droplets all around them.