Someone who wasn't part of the memory spoke to them, and gave them an Asterisk. Something squirmed in his stomach as he thought of the woman who worked at the gas station, the one who wound up not being human. She'd caused everything with a simple trio of handshakes.

"S'fair. I wouldn't wanna touch it, neither. I mean, in all the books I read growin' up, it's always wizards n' sorcerers who could be good people. Warlocks were always bad news." So whoever she went into this nightmare with got an Asterisk too. He had to keep an ear open for any rumors about dark magic, about warlocks...

But he had to also look out for whoever was responsible for the nightmare and punch them in their stupid fucking face for doing this. He tossed the sketchbook aside, where a completed sketch lay, and he planted his hands against his knees. Always the slouchy one, this one.

"Is... 'that' happening here, then? Y'think someone's lookin' to screw with us and see what we do next?"