"That's too bad," Marcel says, his voice mild. He studies the young mage's face as Sam talks through the comparison of Rifts, his choice of words, trying to press the similarities over the differences. He isn't sure why it is that Sam hesitates to observe what seem like optimistically stark separations to him, but it doesn't bother him. He is certain he didn't come from the Fade. "It'd definitely be good if we could cut Rifters off from coming through. And demons too, of course. Might be better for you with less of us underfoot in the war, though."

Marcel sets a few more cups away into the cabinets under the bar. Warm interest in his face, as ever. "Do you know who is involved in that group?"