Chương 20: The Low

"Property damage insurance? Really?"

"Really," Alicia said.

"Once they ensure the area, just the fear of getting on the Lingards' bad side lowers the amount of combat destruction. One of the clan members I spied on was reading a report on it."

"Wow. Talk about competitive advantage." I paused to think, then asked, "Why stick to upper-tier business districts in New Toronto, then?" We were sprawled out on my bed, having opted, from the day's fatigue, to talk to the air instead of having a normal conversation. It was Queen-sized, large enough to leave each of us our own halves - which made me feel unreasonable shame when I thought of Alicia's child-sized bed. My handling of Seraphina earlier in the day had given me enough of that to begin with.

We had decided that meeting in my room would be safer and easier; I didn't have a roommate who could see us. Now that Alicia was here (and we'd finished with Seraphina), she was taking the opportunity to go over her observations on the Lingards.

"I'm sure they could do all of Wellston if they wanted," she said.

"I saw an email from a landlord in a low-tier district begging to be ensured." Ah.

"But if the clan did that," I reasoned, "they would be suppressing fighting intensity in too many places. Is that what it is?" She sighed, then nodded, seeming irritated.

"Yeah. Can't have Wellston City seem 'unfriendly' to ability growth. Not when our student population is so high."

"And that's number three?" I asked, receiving a nod.

"I'm sure the hospitals they own are wealth source number one… But what's number two?" Alicia sighed again. She palmed the see-through plastic jewelry box she'd brought - which she had used to sort out the hairs I'd given her - and handed it to me. Looking closely at it for the first time, I noticed that each square compartment of the box had a label stuck on it. Many of the labels were 'N/A' (and an accompanying frowny face), but some had a name and power level.

She tapped on the bottom left square of the box, labeled 'Oskar Lingard, 6. 2.'

"I didn't know where to start with my research, so I picked a random strand of blonde hair and stuck to that person for a while." She made a face of distaste.

"It took a while to realize I chose the runt of the litter. All the reports Oskar gets have tons of lines blacked out – in the hierarchy of god-tiers, his position isn't high enough for full info." I had to suppress a grimace. I had noticed it earlier when we were watching Seraphina, but Alicia's tone was…

"So we don't know what source 2 is."

"Yep. But whatever 'top-secret project JCM91' is," she rolled her eyes, exaggerating her voice mockingly, "it's making them a looot of money. Almost half as much as their hospitals did the last quarter." Alicia rolled onto her back, staring up at my room's ceiling with a distinct look of fatigue.

"Hours of watching, just to learn some fun facts about their insurance business." She tapped a performative finger against her chin.

"Oh, and I learned that a 6. 2 can get bullied by stronger god-tiers in an email chain." The caustic, biting quality in Alicia's voice was too obvious to ignore. I sat up and scooted along the bed, repositioning myself beside her to hold her hand.

"You alright?" I interlaced our fingers.

"We're just about done for today, I think."

"It's okay. I'm fine." She sat up and let out a breath.

"It feels like I'm watching things that people like me shouldn't see. I end up surprised and frustrated when I see the way things actually are behind the scenes. That's all it is." I nodded, even though I wasn't quite sure what she meant.

"For example…(?)""Just now, what I saw with Seraphina was one. There's Oskar Lingard, Freya Lingard, and other god-tiers… Look, the more I watch, the more I realize that their lives - their lives just aren't all that great." She took the transparent jewelry box from my hand and started gesturing at each of the labels with a name on it. Each of those compartments, each small stack of hairs, corresponded to a person she'd watched.

"Oskar gets verbally crushed every week by the higher-level board of investors at his company. Freya has just a single non-family contact on her phone, her Ex-boyfriend whose year-old text messages she spent an hour scrolling through both times I spied on her. One of the non-Lingards is addicted to Xanax, I think, from how many pills he popped in a 30-minute timespan, and another one is addicted to porn." Alicia grimaced.

"She was watching S&M High-tier on-low-tier when I checked on her at ten last night, and she was still watching it when I woke up today at seven. Her vision was completely glazed over, blurry… I don't think she slept for a second!" She tapped, extra hard, on the compartment labeled 'Hana Cheparinov.' Three brown hairs jostled a little in their case. If I end up meeting her, the mental image is going to be… My thoughts derailed, and I forced them back on track. Let's just hope it doesn't happen.

"Isn't it a bit comforting," I tried to reason, "when god-tiers struggle? If their lives were perfect, they'd want to block any change to how things are." She stared me straight in the face, then looked away and shook her head. I couldn't dissect the swirl of emotions in her eyes. Then, after a long moment of silence, Alicia spoke.

"Do you remember that art project from fifth grade - the one where we drew portraits of ourselves as adults, as what we wanted to be when we grew up? Do you remember what I drew myself as?" I frowned.

"It was - it was an assistant for the blind, right? I remember in the painting, you included a guy with sunglasses and a cane standing next to you." But what does that have to do with-"That was my second portrait," Alicia said.

"A week before the due date, I drew one of myself as a nurse, taking someone's heart rate. But my dad threw it away as soon as I showed it to him. Said he wanted to snuff out any unrealistic hopes as soon as he could – he thought it was better for me in the long run." Alicia stared through my window, out to the courtyard and starry sky.

"I was ten. My goals could swing around as easily as the direction of the wind. But I really did want to be a nurse, because they always took care of me whenever I got beat up. And I wasn't clueless, either. Every nurse I'd ever met was at least a 3. 0, while Mom and Dad weren't even 2. 0s. I knew it probably wasn't going to happen." The words made me wince slightly, even though I should've been used to them. She smiled sadly.

"It still hurt. And I was ten, so I cried and cried some more. My dad's usually harsh, to begin with, but I think he started regretting the way he approached the subject after an hour of that. He tried to put it a different way… Sort of like this:" Alicia cleared her throat, tone shifting deeper and more adult-like, imitating her father.

"'Look. Not everyone can be a doctor or nurse. Every day, only so many people get injured or sick. Not everyone can do business or law, either, because there's only so much business or law to be done. For lots of jobs, there are less of them than there are people who want them - so how do we decide who can be what?'" Again, she ran a finger over the leftmost compartment of the jewelry box. Oskar Lingard, 6. 2."' We use ability level; the higher it is, the more things you can be. That's just how it is.

If your mom and I were elites, I know you could be a nurse or doctor. You - our family - simply got unlucky. We got unlucky with a bad dice roll. But thanks to you, someone else can get lucky in your place. Because you were born a low-tier, someone out there can succeed... you should take pride in that.'" Oddly, there was no mocking or derisiveness in her voice. An undertone of anger, yes, but Alicia had always kept a bitterness toward her parents.

"Your dad really said it like that?" I asked.

"As an attempt to cheer you up?"

"Obviously, it didn't really work at the time. I kept crying, and the pizza he ordered for me cheered me up more than the words did." She snorted, seeming almost bemused.

"But they still stuck. From then on, whenever someone beat me up, or took my lunch, or a teacher would 'misgrade' my test… I told myself I was helping someone else live a good life by existing. By not being a god-tier, high-tier, or elite-tier, I was leaving happiness for other people." Like a twist on a noble sacrifice, I thought. God-tiers are 0. 001% percent of the population – by being one, you consign a hundred thousand to being lesser. But by being a low-tier…

"Low-tiers give everyone else a better chance, you mean." A better chance for a happy, successful life.

"I thought so. But now that I can see for myself, it looks like I'm giving people a different chance: to live drug-addicted, porn-fueled, loveless lives where they sob to themselves alone at dinner." Alicia scoffed, shaking her head.

"My sacrifice is meaningless, and I'm getting my stomach kicked in at lunch period for no reason at all. They're rich and don't have to worry about broken bones, but their lives aren't much better than mine." Alicia smiled her bitter smile, leaning her back against my bedrest and staring out the window.

"Thousands of people lost out on their aspirations so Oskar Lingard could be the top executive at an insurance company. Turns out, he doesn't like the job that much. His life is just alright." It was a foreign notion to me, that you would want others to benefit from the happiness you unwillingly sacrificed. A few years ago, I would have dismissed the idea out of hand… But after living in this world for nearly five years, interacting with low-tiers, I could begin to understand.

Well, I thought, right or wrong, there's an easy way to get to the bottom of the issue.

"Would you prefer it if god-tiers all lived amazing lives?" I asked.

"If they all loved their jobs, had fun, amazing hobbies, and tons of fulfilling relationships? That's what it would mean for the sacrifice to mean anything." Along with being rich and powerful, but that's implicit. She blinked at me slowly, considering it.

"Hmm… Maybe. But I think that could make me miserable, too." I nodded.

"Then, instead of making meaningless sacrifice meaningful, the other direction is to reduce the amount of sacrifice - or at least keep it from increasing. Which, you know, is what we're aiming for."

"I get that," Alicia said.

"I know you've thought this through. I'm more on board now than before, really - that's why I took the train here as soon as you said it was important." Momentarily, she tilted her head in thought.

"Hey, I know I went on a tangent, but are you going to tell me what that 'present' for Seraphina was? I didn't get a good look at it. And - and was most of what happened with her pre-planned? Did you already have that apology note prepared in advance?"

"Yeah."

"Yes to just one? Or all three?"

"Yeah." I smiled softly at her. She rolled her eyes.... The rest of the week rolled by mostly uneventfully. The Royals weren't set to graduate for another while, so I didn't need to step into those shoes just yet, and my 'fighting duties' had been cut down to a fraction. With my extra time, I made good on my promise and challenged Rei to multiple spars. For fun. Each time, I ended up burnt and paralyzed on the ground, Rei smiling in satisfaction as he pulled me to my feet.

It was as hard as ever to imagine enjoying it like he and others did. I went out to see a movie, a distastefully gore-filled apocalypse flick with crashing planes and mutant-zombie ability users… That Ventus and Karrin somehow complained didn't have enough action. I felt like just as much of an alien as before. My words to Rei a few weeks ago weren't empty bluster. I wanted to get it, to understand this world on a natural, instinctual level that my journals didn't allow.

Rather than seeing much progress, unfortunately, I realized just how far I was from making it there. As for Alicia, I didn't keep her waiting for long. There wasn't a real reason to keep her in suspense save for my amusement. It had been too late that evening for her to take the train back to Agwin alone, so she'd slept over at my dorm - and I'd explained the behind-the-scenes before going to sleep. The truth was that the whole thing had been fake from the beginning.

I had noticed Seraphina engrossed in thought, staring at a textbook as she waited at the front gates - so I'd taken the opportunity to activate my ability and cut a few strands of hair from behind. Then, when I had snapped her out of her thoughts, I made it seem like I felt guilty for startling her when the guilt came from literally everything else. Most of my small talk that day consisted of pre-rehearsed lines, written so I could better grasp Seraphina's mental state.

I had also drafted and rehearsed my 'conceptual tour' monologue, including the chalk drawings, days before she visited. I'd intentionally made it harsher and blunter than necessary, a pretext for giving her a present and a pre-written note as an apology. Pre-written, that was, aside from one line: "We're in the final few minutes of the tour - I'm writing this as I watch your bag while you're in the bathroom." I'd added it on for naturalness.

The present itself was a pair of books, both written by the little-known author William H. Doe. Notably the father of the main protagonist. Alicia had been confused as to why it was so important, exactly, for Seraphina to have the books. I told her there wouldn't be a better explanation than reading them herself. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. If everything went according to canon, William Doe would write another book in about a year: a novel called Unordinary.

It was the story, I knew, that would inspire Rei, Kuyo, and many other High-tiers to take up superhero vigilantism. Not only did I have time to spare, but I had also intentionally set things up so I'd spend my summer in New Boston - the city where he and his son lived. … So naturally, I got in contact with him. Beautiful"Dad, come watch this! I managed to copy regeneration!" It was his son John's voice, more than loud enough to carry from the other side of their small apartment.

"In a minute!" William called back, scrolling through messages on his laptop.

"Let me finish up some work!" His fingers clicked against his keyboard, typing out a paragraph in response to a piece of particularly enthusiastic fan mail. William Doe had been stuck at the same spot in his authorial career for the past decade. He'd written three novels and two collections of short stories, each moderately successful, but his name had never become well known.

He had never been a 'staple,' in the sense that he was mostly a secondary thought for the general consumer market, and he knew that literary critics didn't rank him much better than middling, either. But he'd never stopped trying. And not just to improve his writing - he understood, from nearly two decades of experience, that fan correspondence was the lifeblood of his work. He loved watching his son's progress, but family bonding didn't put meals on the table like book sales did.

Not that his work was exactly a chore, either. He knew he was incredibly fortunate to be able to write books for a living. And he had ideas, some too broad and complex to put into exact words, that he could only communicate properly through stories. His gift for storytelling was a gift in more than one sense. After finishing his response, William moved on, eventually making it to a ranting, unpleasant message filled with profanity.

The text hurled so many degrading insults that the ability-based slurs seemed to blot out the whole of his screen. To this one as well, he started typing out a message of gratitude - 'Thank you for engaging deeply in my work. Regardless of your current personal feelings, I appreciated the conversation we had…' It was more difficult than the first. As he wrote and rewrote, it took restraint and a writer's skill to keep the anger out, leaving what he hoped would be seen as a confusingly amiable and likable reply.

It was, in his experience, the best way to defuse someone who had recently 'figured it out.' William clicked his tongue, and his mind began to escape willfully from the reality in front of him. He could appreciate all kinds of stories, but he resented this one more than any other - the story of a cripple author attempting to keep a reader from learning the truth. It was a story with three acts, none of which he'd ever really named or defined in any concrete sense, but he knew them well.

The first act was like the nice honeymoon of a bad marriage. Made curious about him by one of his stories' unconventional premises, the reader would quite easily find that William maintained an active online presence. It was a rare chance to have a conversation with the author you enjoyed, so they always approached him eagerly, usually with theories, questions, and critiques. The novelty of the experience tended to block out what should have been easy suspicions…

Why, exactly, didn't the self-profile on William's website include an ability name or power level? He always reciprocated their enthusiasm for as long as the period lasted. The second act was painful obfuscation. Inevitably, they would become cognizant that they didn't know the level of the person they were talking to – which everyone invariably seemed to believe was some mortal sin of conversation to be immediately fixed. They would share their level, expecting him, naturally, to share his own in return.

William always used the same prepared excuse, saying that he didn't want to alienate any tier of readers by sharing his own level… It was a reasonable answer. Mid-tier authors were always proportionally most popular among readers of their tier, and the same was true with elite-tiers and higher. But it was also an answer that inspired curiosity.

A lack of knowledge made people create guesses of their own - what if he was an uncommon, eccentric high-tier with an odd sense of social politics, who wanted his lowers to appreciate his work? Wouldn't it be interesting to know they'd chatted with someone like that? Those curious enough would start digging around for information. Some of them found an obscure interview that William wished he had never taken part in.

"I'm not ashamed to be a cripple author," he had told a local news reporter fifteen years ago.

"It gives me a unique perspective to contribute to my work." Fifteen years of trying to scrub his status off the internet, and the stupid clip was still around. That was always how act three started: the fan, often someone who he'd talked with for years, would reference the video with betrayal bleeding from their words. Once William confirmed their fears…

'Soulless fucking bastard,' he read the message over once again.

'You think you're funny, pulling the wool over my eyes for so long? I'm never reading a piece of your dogshit ever again.'

'Looking back, I don't know why I ever read that slop you call a novel - the characters are so obviously plastic. But maybe I shouldn't be surprised. A shitfaced ape like you can't understand real people, anyway. Have fun being bad at this forever.'

'Ape.' Because the one quality that set humans apart from the animal kingdom was their possession of ability aura. So a person like William, someone without aura or an ability, might as well have been an… … Some thought of abilities as a manifestation of the human soul. William forced himself back into the world, back to the disarming, likable message he was supposed to be writing. He found that he despised the three-act story even more.

Most readers only got to act two, curious about his ability but not enough to go digging for it - but just the possibility left him slick with fear. Fear that felt impossible to overcome. Fear that everything he'd built would come crashing down, broken by a force uncaring of how hard he tried.

"Dad?" his son called.

"Are you coming or not?" William hit send.

"I am! I am!" Beautiful April 25 Meili: Hi! I was told I could reach Mr. William Doe if I made a private channel. Is that true? Did I do it right? ## WDoe: If you drop the 'Mr.' you did it right. Otherwise… New phone, who's this? Do you kids make jokes like that nowadays?" Meili: Awesome! It's really great to talk to you! But I don't think phones work like that anymore. ## Meili: How did you know I was young? ## WDoe: Well, I just read an amazing email.

It was from a student who'd read all 17 of my stories, including the miniatures in the collections. She said she was my biggest fan, she wanted me to autograph all her books, and she wanted to talk to me so, so badly… You know anything about her?:) ## Meili: Wow. It's a lot more embarrassing written out like that. ## Meili: That was me. But I thought people like me were a dime a dozen, honestly! Everything you write is so good. I'm sure there are lots of people who have read the whole set.

WDoe: Now you're just buttering me up. Almost nobody has read everything - mostly because I'm a flake who can't stick to one genre. ## WDoe: I've always wanted to hear this from someone who's read everything. Out of all of my books, which one did you like the most? Which was the one that made you want to reach out? ## Meili: I have to choose just one? Cruel. ## Meili: But if I had to, then I guess I would pick Best Day Ever? It wasn't what got me into your writing, but it's the story that stuck with me the most.

Just the looping concept alone is so unique that it beats out most of the other overdone stuff that's around. ## WDoe: Really? That's great! The sales weren't too bad on that one, and I know some people who have it as their favorite. But other time-loop books came before it, you know, some that were better received than mine. ## Meili: I read those, too. But all of them mostly just use the time loop as a device for the protagonist's power growth.

Like, have the main character slowly grow and eventually get revenge on a bully or establish dominance over their school. I think that kind of development can be nice, but it gets tiring after a while. ## Meili: Yours was different. I thought making Zohan's loop exit condition be all his family and friends having the 'best day ever' was sooo clever. It naturally built development and character complexity into the story instead of just a bunch of fight scenes.

You made Zohan learn way, way more about the people in his life, and realize how selfish and self-centered his worldview was. ## Meili: And then, those final few chapters when Zohan realized what Jasmine was going through, and he had to figure out how to rescue her from her own father… I can't even put into words how they made me feel. Don't sell yourself short compared to other authors! ## WDoe: Well, jeez. I'm flattered, really. You really didn't think it was dry or uninteresting, with the minimal fights it had?

That's a lot of people's main problem with it. ## Meili: I don't think a novel needs to be defined by its action scenes. And none of the other authors I've read do nonviolent conflict as well as you. You could write a story without a single fight, just characters living their lives, and I'd love to read it. ##... April 27 WDoe: So when Zohan says, "I've felt love ten times deeper than yours could ever be," to Jasmine's abusive father, it's taken as a moment of character realization.

He loves and cares for people by now, and can realize that her father is full of shit. ## WDoe: But 'felt' is ambiguous - is he talking about love he feels himself or the love others feel for him? Another legitimate interpretation is that he realizes how much his parents love him, compared to Jasmine's, and he finally understands how ungrateful he's been to them. ## Meili: Wow. I guess I only ever thought about it in the first way, but having it the second way completes his arc just as much, doesn't it?

That's amazing! Now I don't know what to think. ## Meili: You think both are legitimate, I get that, but which one do you personally think is the right interpretation? You're the author, so you should have the final say. ## WDoe: Maybe both? The meanings sprung into my mind around the same time, and I kept it vague precisely because I didn't want to choose. You can have the canon be whichever one you like more. ## Meili: I'll go with the second one, then. I think.

WDoe: It just dawned on me that you should be in class. Are you skipping school for this? ## Meili: I'm in class, just not paying attention. And it's English. I'm learning far more about the subject from you than from a teacher who's never published anything in his life. ## WDoe: I guess that's fair. ## WDoe: You said you had a question about one of my short stories? I still have some time. ##... April 29 WDoe: That's the main thing I'm working on. Unfortunately, the writing isn't going too well.

I've had the whole thing storyboarded forever now, and I'm perfectly happy with the plot, but I can't seem to get words on the page. ## Meili: You said yesterday that it was sort of an alternate-reality novel, yeah? Maybe I shouldn't ask for more details, but can you tell me more? You got me curious about the premise. ## WDoe: It's probably fine. I developed the concept over a decade ago - a world where nobody has an ability except a single man. I thought of it because…

Well, you're not the only one who thinks having ability progression or flat-out 'getting stronger' as the main focus can get boring. ## WDoe: I mean, say you're the strongest in the world - so what? That's where the storyline ends most of the time, but couldn't it also be the beginning? What are you going to do with that strength? How are you going to use it to shape the world? Taking that idea to its ultimate extreme, we have a single god-tier who sits far above everyone else in power.

Meili: That sounds like it could be interesting. But I'd imagine it wasn't easy to write challenges for the protagonist. Is there technology, or something, that can get in his way? Does he have a weakness? ## WDoe: No, and that's the point. ## Meili: Really? ## WDoe: Think about it. Instead of a main character who struggles to be strong, what about someone who struggles to be kind? Someone who learns to respect others, who has to force himself to do the right thing because nobody can stop him if he doesn't?

Just like you said, a story doesn't have to be defined by its fight scenes. ## WDoe: Lots of authors say that a good story has to have its main character grow. That might be true, but I also think that growth can appear in a lot of different ways. ## Meili: See, now I'm convinced. When you say amazing things like that, I start wishing you didn't have to scrub that interview off the internet. ## Meili:"I'm not ashamed to be a cripple author. It gives me a unique perspective to contribute to my work."

Meili: It's completely true! Nobody else is as innovative as you. You say you wish you'd stuck to one genre, but I think writing so many unique stories is really impressive, too. ## Meili: Of course, I understand why you keep the video from resurfacing, but it's still so irritating that you have to hide it… ## Meili: Hey William? Are you there? ##... April 30 WDoe: Sorry for not responding. I was a little shocked. You really knew all this time? ## Meili: Yeah? You're my favorite author.

I learned everything I could about you. ## WDoe: And I was still your favorite author after you learned? ## Meili: Why would I start feeling differently? Not everyone has unscientific superstitions about aura – didn't I tell you that I did a research project on it? I guess I never mentioned this part, but I'll even be interning at a big, fancy aurology lab in New Boston soon. ## Meili: If this is a sore point for you, we can just ignore it. I wanted to talk some more about the new book you're working on.

WDoe: Wait just a second. You're not a cripple or low-tier, are you? ## Meili: No? I'm a 4. 2. <link-to-ID-picture>. ## WDoe: Sorry, give me a few minutes. I'll be back soon. ## Meili: Sure? ## WDoe: Okay, I'm back. What did you want to ask about? ##... May 2 Meili: Sure, the protagonist's philosophy could come across as unrelatable at first, but it'll also be pretty easy to justify to the reader.

He respects all the people around him without abilities because he respects his mother, father, and sister who also don't have them. He tries to be kind because he didn't develop his ability until his late teens, like a late bloomer - so he has recent memories of times when he wanted other people to be kind to him, and they weren't. ## WDoe: That'll work out for some, but the problem is that I want to approach this in a way that grants me as broad an audience as possible.

Most people, if they suddenly had ultimate power, would use it to get revenge on bosses or settle old grudges. They'd use it for money or to entertain themselves. I'm worried that, with the positive role he takes, he comes across as unrealistically good and becomes alienating. ## Meili: Then how about you have him do the relatable thing, too, just before the story starts? Like, in a flashback or prologue, he puts his old bully in a coma.

And maybe he regrets it down the line - having the power to change the world but using it for revenge - and his desire to atone is what sets off the main plot. ## WDoe: That's a good idea! It might be a bit hard to fit into the word limits I set for myself, but it could work. I should try working out a rough draft of that this week. ## WDoe: Hey, do you still want me to autograph your books? ## Meili: Just one book would already be great, really, but YES.

WDoe: Since your internship is here in New Boston, you should bring some of them with you. I'll sign them, and if you want, you could come for a visit. ## Meili: Of course! I'll bring my whole collection! ## …… I closed my laptop with a smile, then stood and stretched from my chair. The joints in my spine, stiff from two hours of typing, loosened with a beautiful pop. I opened my window, grin widening, as I let a warm breeze tickle my nose and sweep my hair.

Dusky amber sunlight drenched everything in sight, and even the partially ruined courtyard, with flowers burnt by an earlier fight, seemed halfway nice to look at. For once, my accomplishment felt more sweet than bitter. For once, it was kindness and honesty that had gotten me what I wanted. It wasn't enough with Seraphina, wasn't enough with Arlo, wasn't enough with any of the students at Wellston High… But this time, it was enough. William Doe was my favorite author.

His stories were unique, not oversaturated in blood and violence, and his characters felt singularly real and sympathetic. I talked for hours and hours with him because I wanted to, because I wanted to hear what he had to say. I'd read every single one of his books, some multiple times, and I wanted him to leave his autograph on each of them. And it really did bother me, how he'd been forced to obfuscate and hide his status for success. I told not a single lie. Of course, I had hidden intentions.

Of course, I'd told William things - true things - that I might not have said in normal circumstances. Part of my motivation was getting to John and Jane through him… And under the surface, somewhere further back in my mind, I had the sense that his skill in writing could be useful to me later on. But genuinely, and for the most part, I just wanted to talk to the guy. It was enough this time.