Enoch stands behind the bar, assembling a cocktail with the intense deliberation of someone arming a bomb, or someone who simply spent hours upon hours watching Parson Starling mix drinks. What he lacks in flair, he makes up for with attention to detail. Muddling syrup and cucumber slices, measuring out each liquid ingredient, shaking it for exactly thirty seconds, arranging the garnishes on top with a toothpick.

Unnecessary effort, but it keeps his hands busy and his mind from wandering to memories of his last New Year's. Enoch glances up once when Crysta comes to join him at the bar, but he doesn't speak until he places the glass in front of her, along with a napkin.

"Did I pour real gin or fake gin into this?" Illusory liquid out of a real mini bottle, mixed with real juice and ice. He wonders if there are traces of Waldinger particles, or if they disappeared immediately.