It's not in the way that he says it so much as the way that he looks at him. Tim nearly tosses his drink at him, a rage in him that feels like every ounce of the months of nobody telling him anything while they all knew what was going on. It's still that. It's still some part of Tim being out of the loop.

But he isn't. There is a clarity in coming from nothing back into this. In sitting here across from a man that had to draw knowledge from someone when he simply knows. He can recall, once more, Sasha's laugh and smile and how she taps her fingers while she's working, the tuck of her hair behind her ear, all of the things that that thing never got right and that none of them noticed because that's how The Stranger works.

The anger, the frustration, chews at him because it always does, because he doesn't know what else to do. He's the first to look down.

"I'm getting another drink."