To his credit: he doesn’t choke on his drink this time.

But Strange does snort an undignified laugh, and lets his wine glass sink until he’s balancing it against the arm of the sofa, safely waiting until it’s a bit less likely to go down his windpipe. Best not to tempt fate. He’d almost forgotten that he’d told her about it. Mortifying.

“I told you that in confidence and now look what you’re doing with that very privileged information,” he says, mock-aggrieved, mock-despairing. Embarrassed but only gently so; it actually feels oddly good to have someone ribbing him. Turnabout is fair play, considering what a terror he’d been at Kamar-Taj, so the balance of the universe isn’t right unless someone’s bullying Stephen Strange right back. It’s familiar. It feels comfortably friendly in a way he’s been missing.

“And I can, yes. Most of the other Theodosians have walked right past the spot without knowing.” He knows she knows Tony, so he puts two-and-two together a moment later: “You’ve been staying at Stark Tower, right? You haven’t seen the Sanctum yet?”