"What?" He blinks, eyebrow quirked up in confusion. "What's on me, Inigo?" Roland is convinced he's seeing things. He may have passed the how-many-numbers-am-I-holding-up test, but what if he was suffering a deeper concussion?

Roland shakes his head. The cockroach flies in a circle, one full rotation, before it perches itself on top of his head again as if nothing happened; its host still clueless. In fact, it makes things worse by crawling downwards, it's antennae almost touching the tops of Roland's ear.