There is a great straightforwardness and faultless severity with which fall his next words.

"I am The Doctor, and I don't know you." In a million-million lives, and ten, you could lose one.
But you would not lose someone you'd know all of their life. Even the length of a human life.
He remembered them all. All of the people who said yes. No matter how short it was.


There is the chance she's lying. But there's, also, other options. Other possibilities.




"Which means," he follows. Slowly. "We have a problem."



A greater problem than the ones he had already been juggling.



There is a chance that this place is crossing him through his own timeline.
Which could be far more disastrous than fifty people ripped from the past to here.