Maybe he expected Gran to come barreling in, waving her cane, shouting that she was gonna skin him alive if he didn’t get his ugly butt off the table. Quinn didn’t yell. She didn’t do anything. Loki stayed on the table. Thor and Odin wandered the house, meowing plaintively, searching for their mistress. They sensed something was off. “She’s not here,” she said, barbed wire in her throat.
