In the space of time in which he nearly strangled himself, the rodent-like creature had slipped out of Rush's sphere of relevance. He doesn't recognize it, nor does he choose to acknowledge it short of a perfunctory narrowing of eyes. His attention flickers between presumed pet and presumed owner in vague indecision before coming to a pointed rest on the skeptical latter.

"It operates on a premise askew," he answers in swelling annoyance. "Not in the typical sense. I studied spatiotemporal aberrations for a living and I had no idea the bloody thing existed until I was confronted with it directly." Her clear doubt, however, has communicated her inexperience with the Rift itself; it's an overwhelmingly likely conclusion that she is not one of its manifold victims. "I take it, then, that you've never encountered it. That is to say - you're not in Manhattan."