He glances over at her and smiles back, a fleeting glimpse of warmth. "Even then, yes. This place accepted me when I was at my worst, which means anyone else is fair game, terrible music taste or not."

Kamar-Taj had taken him in when he was broken, grieving, lashing out at others like an injured dog snapping its teeth. The order had a habit of taking in people who were shattered both literally and figuratively (or perhaps budding sorcerers had a tendency to blow up their own lives; either way, the Sanctum lived up to its name). Considering the type of people who had come and gone through here, Wanda Maximoff piecing herself together fits right in.

Strange walks the rest of the way down the steps then, back onto the floor to survey their work. He nudges some of the sand with the toe of his boot. It's still wet and there'll be water damage, but now that she's done the lion's share of the work, a fellow master should be able to wring the last water particles out of the wood for them. Strange can also assign some novices to sweep up the sand with brooms. (No Fantasia antics, he'd have to remind them. Do it by hand!!)

"Well done," he concludes. "See? No harm, no foul. We didn't open a permanent gateway to the Pacific and flood the city."