Magnus's hair is getting long again, since Alex is no longer around to drag him aside and forcibly cut it to the length he prefers. It's weird, actually? He's gotten used to it not falling in his face all the time. It feels weirder to have anyone who isn't Alex cut it, though, so today he's thrown it back into a messy little something with a glittery scrunchie he found in his room. The scrunchie is too bright and colorful for his taste, but at least he doesn't have to look at it.

He's walking out of the library with a stack of books on Newtonian physics, agriculture in the Sahel, three different magic systems that sound equally unfamiliar to him, and a collection of Western Apache oral myths -- the latest in his attempts to make productive use of his time here by learning things -- when he sees the unfamiliar man. "Hey, dude," he says, shifting all his books to one hand so he can wave. "Are you new, or have I just not run into you yet? I'm Magnus."