No. You’re not. { There’s a finality in his tone. It’s meant more towards Will. He’s still trying to convince himself of the reality they’ve found themselves, whatever it may be. His nails scratch against his jeans, but it proves to be a disruptive noise even if brief. There’s a weight on his chest that won’t go away. It reminds him of sleep paralysis. He’s had it.

A devil sitting on his chest and just staring. It’s incomprensible. It stopped after he met real devils. }

Can I confide something? { He’s testing, finding some way to understand the place itself. } One of my dogs appeared at my apartment one day. Winston. It’s him, but I keep wondering if it’s a way to keep us here. Give the puppet a purpose and it’ll continue to dance.

{ The thing is, Will’s words sometimes are not his. The inquiry is him adapting and he’s still seeking to find a way. Abby’s demeanor is only adding to his overflowing confusion, his need to understand. }

Is Jenny always with you?