John scoffs, at first, pulling in a breath to say something like 'rubbish.' He was expecting something scary, but he wasn't expecting nonsense about having already lived here for a while, or normally being an adult. It's impossible.

But then he pauses, realizing with a prickle of unease that he can't really remember yesterday; not with any clarity. Maybe being drugged would make that hard, but it's not just that he can't remember what pajamas he wore before going to bed last night. He isn't even entirely sure what day of the week it's meant to be, or what month, even.

And he isn't sure he knows what impossible is, anymore. Not since that book.

"Prove it," he ends up saying, instead.