He’s startled but not as visibly so as Ness; he grants only an arched eyebrow, craning his head to look down at the skull in the box. “Huh,” Strange says, which he’s been saying a lot today. Nonplussed as ever, dryly amused.

And so, because there’s nothing to do but be obliging when a disembodied skull squawks at you, he holds out the roll and lets some of it unfurl. Waxed paper dangling and spinning in the air above the skull, gold stars glinting for its perusal. (If you give spirits what they want, sometimes they go away. He’d learned that in the past.)

“It’s to mark a job well done,” he explains; to Ennaris or to the talking skull? Well, both.