Strange tilts his head, following that dangling unfinished sentence, pairing it with the first and taking a guess on what Benedict intended. It didn’t seem like I’d be back.

“After two whole months, I don’t blame you. What did…”

The man is warring between multiple kneejerk impulses: wanting more information. Wanting to check on his patient’s physical state. And then, some distant atrophied third impulse, remembering that he might need to say comforting, consoling things.

In the end, he succumbs to the curiosity. “Was it only the demons keeping you in captivity, or were there others there too? Venatori?”