Eventually, through the magic of RP Time, Burton Bland crumples to the floor, just a pile of dust. The scene rewinds, the man in the tweed suit resuming his place at the booth, as if he never even noticed the two teens eavesdropping on his conversation.

"And what in the Hell is all this shit, man? Looks satanic," Henry shuffles the stack more, flourishing out a collection of handwritten notes. Symbols and diagrams cover the page. Words and phrases like "heart" and "leyline" stand out. "It ain't you, Burt."

"That, Henry," says Burton Bland with a casual flick of his wrist, "Is what's going to dissolve the wall that separates us from them."