"Yeah, me too. I don't know about the others, but I doubt we're the only ones." Veronica glances down to her hand and rubs fitfully against the circle of scar tissue on the palm. "Everybody shows up in the same kind of clothes, with the same stuff in their backpack. We come from all over. Different places, different times." Which is a pretty tall order for most people to swallow, in her experience.

"Look," she says as she leans forward, watching him carefully as she braces her forearms against the top of the table. "I wasn't trying to screw with you earlier. Out on the street, I recognized you. You've been here before. You had the same scars and everything."