"Roby was murdered. ...I'm really sorry."

Terrence's face falls.

"...What? ... Today, last night? ...Surely not."

"Was it in the paper? I haven't read the paper - did - what - oh no."

"When I came to your room-- I thought you knew?-- but then Jing Yi. I'm sorry, it's horrible."

"Last night. They think it was Valentine."

She's not bothering to put the interpersonal barriers back up and refer to her by last name, right now.

"I guess we know what he meant when he said he'd be free soon."

He leans against the wall, putting his hands over his mouth, having a little crisis.

"And he said - he said he would be - free - goodness - do you think it was, uh - " he somberly makes little wing-flapping motions with his hands. "I guess we don't know. He probably didn't have a whistle with him, that would be absurd. Oh, my god, the last thing I said to him was all but ignoring him - "

"I'm sorry," Oscar says. It's kind of lame but he has no idea what else to do.

(He honestly wants to give Terrence a hug but given yesterday he thinks Terrence might take it the wrong way and that sets off a bunch of irrelevant self-pitying thoughts.)

"I suppose we won't be consulting on his case any further."

This morning was a bit of a last-ditch effort, in that light. Now it's up to Dr. Aarons to keep himself and his patients alive and unhaunted.

"I got distracted by - personal intrigue -" he waves a hand dismissively "- and some book recommendations, but, well - oh my god."

"I - I suppose not."

"You couldn't have known," Oscar says.

(Inaaya's not, actually, super sorry. Roby is dead but he seemed fine with that and all the things she wasn't thinking yesterday about grieving Joan alone while everyone around her calls them both licentious perverts whose entire relationship was a disease are coming back in full force.)

(She should probably actually process that feeling and not just sit on it and hope it goes away. But consider this: she doesn't want to.)

"I guess not," says Terrence, darkly, resignedly, with the intimation that his inability to have predicted this is a personal failing.

Maybe Sal should read Der Wanderer. Since the future keeps coming at them like this and Oscar sure doesn't seem to want to test its prophetic visions. What exactly does "couldn't have known" mean if some people can clearly sometimes see the future.

"-Um. Is that what you went to talk to Aarons about? Could he tell you anything?"

"No, I was trying to convince him that magic exists because at this point he clearly needs to know, and it didn't work for exactly the reasons you'd expect."

"...Oh dear. Sensible, but oh dear."

"I'm sorry he doubted you."

"Well. Anyone would, really."

She sounds remarkably dispassionate about this for how ready to tear her hair out she was when she walked in.

"We left him a copy of our notes. Just in case. There's something happening at that asylum, and if it doesn't end with Roby he needs to know what's going on."

"If anyone's going to make a good case for magic existing it's going to be you."

Except it doesn't fucking matter how good her case is. It's not about how good her case is.

"I'll... try and think of something to tell him, I suppose. A letter. Maybe it's - he deserves some warning. Though I'm not sure how many more problems there'll be there now that Roby's - gone."

Did they make sure to include the signs of a King in Yellow adherent in their notes. Did they mention at all that they have a friend who shows all these signs. Sal is now wishing they'd put it on the front page in large print.

Inaaya, at least, absolutely included all the information she had about the King in Yellow. Including the Japanese government's experiments, and, for that matter, her observations about Terrence.

"Again, I'm sure Inaaya did an excellent job. He's just set in-- his rational worldview, or whatever it may be."

"I don't think it especially matters how good a job I did. Empirically, it didn't work."

Also, she has a rational worldview, but she can't actually work up the effort to be insulted about the implication that she doesn't.