He really should have known better than to trust Helen.
He hadn't even thought to question the door, just grabbed Basira, still giddy from the feeling of two live statements in a row. Stupid. The throat of delusion, it had called itself, and it might have helped him before but he had to remember that he couldn't trust it.
It's been--he's not sure how long it's been. It's hard to tell, in the Distortion's corridors. Time is hard, slipping away in his mind, and he can't rely on his body to be tired or hungry or thirsty at regular times. Not since he woke up. He does get hungry, eventually, but not for food.
After--however long it's been--he stumbles out, and he's about ready to grumble out a finally, cursing at Helen's door and collapsing into the familiar hallways of the Institute, but the door isn't yellow and the room he's in isn't one he's ever seen before.
He's not in the Institute at all, as far as he can tell. He doesn't know the room, and, more tellingly, can't feel the Eye. It appears to be a... bar, though there's nobody behind the counter. Nobody else in the room at all, except for a girl.
(She has a statement on her, he Knows. But he probably shouldn't start with that, not until he knows where he is, if this is a place of power for her--)
"...Hello? Who are you?"