“If you want to ask him, I can work on distracting Hezenkoss while you cozy up,” Strange offers. “I can be a hit with older women sometimes.”

The words themselves seem like a joke on the surface, but it’s automatic patter; the sorcerer mostly sounds weary, a little frayed around the edges. He has already mentally moved on from that corpse lying on the ground a few feet away, someone else’s cloak now respectfully draped over her. This is what happens; sometimes they die on your table.

But it’s a genuine offer. If Cedric wants to ply his affable friendliness towards the young elf, Strange will run interference.