There is something oddly familiar about this, the tables disorientingly turned, the doctor made patient once more: Strange remembers conducting patellar reflex tests, tapping tendons with rubber mallets. Checking the nerves, testing for numbness, seeing where the pain stops and ends, finding out how far the damage goes. There are enough similarities: the sliver itself makes the flesh numb.

“When,” he says, watching the track of Sennara’s hand, once her index finger reaches the point he’s mapped himself.

“I must stress, though, that this is imprecise. Without, y’know, chopping off one’s hand to measure it more reliably.”

(Please don’t.)