Melmarc strolled up to the front of an apartment on the side of the road late into the night, when the moon wasn’t yet out but the sun was gone and it was dark. The apartment looked simple enough. It was in an apartment complex and had the external look of brick-brown every other house in the neighborhood had.

It also had the same external architectural features.

He looked down at the card Naymond had given him.

“47 Brookswitch drive.” He looked up at the building. Just beside the door, illuminated by the outside light, was the number 47. “I guess this is the place.”

He’d given it two days in the shared living apartment the government had booked for him before before making his decision.

After three invitations to join in a sexual escapade, four near overdoses by one of their roommates in the span of thirty-two hours, and one fight between two C-rank Bashers that broke three beds and shattered one window, he felt it was time to cave in.

He didn’t want to accept Naymond’s offer simply because he felt guilty about snooping for information behind his back. But guilt could only hold him back for so long. When one of your roommates kept staring at you while swallowing pills, you knew it was time to override your guilt.

He looked to the side, a few apartments down.

Pelumi was supposed to be in number 38, and while it was far, it wasn’t too far.

That’s if I can believe Mr. Hitchcock, he thought.

He walked up to the door, duffle bag over one shoulder with a normal backpack worn properly with his laptop inside, and rang the doorbell. He waited for about twenty seconds then rang it again.

Can’t be worse than the government’s shared living, right?

Naymond wore a three-piece suit. That showed class and sophistication. It was only a given that his accomodation would be held to a certain level of class.

But I’m not paying for it, he thought. It was enough reason not to expect much out of it.

It could easily be lacking.

But Naymond had class, right? And he did ask that Melmarc continue to keep the place clean.

Pimps wear clean suits in movies, too, he told himself. And in the same movies, he’d seen how their employees lived.

No. Melmarc shook his head, banishing the thought. He pressed the doorbell again. This is not a movie, and Mr. Hitchcock is not a pimp.

After a moment, he heard the sound of footsteps, then the turning of the door’s lock. The door opened to the sight of a boy. He looked Melmarc’s age but was shorter.

“Here.” The boy held out a mobile phone to him. “It’s for you.”

A little confused, Melmarc took the phone from him. He looked down at the caller and found the call had already been on for at least eleven seconds. The caller’s name wasn’t saved, and he didn’t recognize the phone number.

He looked at the boy inquisitively.

“You’re running up my phone bill,” the boy said simply. “Just answer.”

Melmarc could hear the minute hello’s the person on the other end was saying.

It’s just a phone call, he told himself, knowing very well that if Ark told him a stranger had offered him a random phone and he’d taken it he’d have some words for him.

Melmarc placed the phone to his ear. “Hello.”

“Good. I thought Anji might’ve accidentally melted your face off with his heat vision.”

It was Naymond’s voice. Melmarc looked at the boy still standing at the door. I guess that makes him Anji.

“It’s fine, Mr. Hitchcock,” he said. “I just got here.”

“Good. Now I’ve only got two things to tell you. One, Anji’s in charge of the place. Obey every instruction he gives as long as they are within reason. And, two, I lied.”

“What do you mean you li—”

Naymond hung up before Melmarc could finish his sentence. Melmarc looked down at the phone, confirmed the call was over, then handed it back to Anji.

Anji took it quietly. He had the black hairstyle of a goth enthusiast, but that was were his relationship with anything gothic ended.

He wore a simple T-shirt that said ‘I’m a Venezuelan hunchback’ on the front, with a small picture of a cartoonish hunchback character beneath the large words, and a pair of jeans.

Melmarc raised his hand in an awkward motionless wave and said, “Hi, I’m Melmarc.”

The boy nodded and stepped back into the house, giving Melmarc enough space to come in, which he did.

“I’m Anji,” the boy said.

Melmarc closed the door behind him, and Anji locked it.

“And this is the key to your room and the front door,” the boy added, handing him a key ring with only two keys.

Melmarc took it from him. “Thanks.”

“Now, I have a good idea what Nay told you, so I’ll be brief.” Anji came to stand in front of him but not very close. “One, the only thing I ask is that you don’t bother me. Two, clean your space and any mess you make in the general space. Three, I’m not in charge of the house, no matter what Nay says. And four, if you have any questions with an answer you can’t figure out, ask me or one of the others.”

Melmarc adjusted his bag. “How many are we?”

“Five,” Anji answered. “That’s including you. And one of us isn’t Gifted, so be careful with how you shake his hand or pat his back and all those things. We almost had a Basher break his arm last year just because the guy didn’t know his own strength.”

He looked Melmarc up and down in a curious way. “You don’t look like a Basher.”

“I’m not.”

“Good. Final rule, if none of us have the answer to any questions you might have, call Nay.” Anji pointed towards a small hallway. “Your room’s up the stairs. Second door on the right.”

“Thanks,” Melmarc answered, unsure. He didn’t know if the conversation was going well or not.

Anji turned, and was heading towards what looked like a basement room when he paused. “Also, I’m not the house head or whatever Anji told you. I’m just like everyone else. I stay here. The end.”

“Is that what he lied about?” Melmarc asked.

Anji shrugged with his hand on the door knob. “Nay lies about almost everything. Sometimes he tells you it was a lie. Most times he doesn’t. Just don’t trust anything he says or does. It really doesn’t make much of a difference.”

Anji didn’t seem to mind much about Naymond’s character. He said it like he’d accepted it as a fact of life. Just as fire is hot, Naymond lied. You just learned to live with it. It wasn’t a bad thing and it wasn’t a good thing.

It left Melmarc with a new question.

“Sorry to be a bother,” he said. Anji didn’t say anything so he saw it as a cue to go on. “But is this place really his?”

“Nobody has any idea. I’ve been here for almost a year now, for free, and nobody’s come to kick me out.”

“For free?”

“Yeah. I just help Nay with a few stuff here and there when he needs it. He rarely ever asks for anything too important, though. But I like to think of it as my rent.”

With that, the boy retreated into the door that led to where Melmarc didn’t know.

Then what did he lie about? Melmarc thought as he looked around the room.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

The house was clean, cleaner than he’d even thought it would be. The living area had enough chairs to sit an entire football team, and enough space to fit in the second string. There was a large screen television on a central wall with its own LED designed shelf.

The area was lit in blue and green LED lights that gave it a soothing color scheme.

There was a kitchen just behind it that served as a backdrop to the living room. It was one-third the size of the living room but remained spacious enough.

Whenever Naymond had gained access to the place, he must’ve really put in mind housing a good number of people.

Melmarc strolled through the living room, taking note of the pot on the turned off kitchen burner. He hadn’t eaten since the afternoon and wondered what the cooking schedule was like in the house.

He made his way up the stairs and down the hallway he found. It was a short hallway, wide enough to fit three people walking side by side.

He said second door on the right.

There were only two doors on the right and one on the left, then a small staircase going up. So it wasn’t difficult to navigate.

“New kid?”

Melmarc turned at the sound of the voice and found a lady standing at the small staircase that was supposed to lead up.

He shifted the weight of his bags on his shoulder and moved towards her, offering a handshake.

The lady shook her head, stopping him.

“Not a fan of being touched,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Melmarc didn’t.

The lady looked somewhere in her twenties, which was a bit odd, considering there were currently two members of the house that looked sixteen.

Does she live here, too?

“So…” She gestured vaguely. “New kid?”

Melmarc nodded.

The girl folded her arms casually. “Nay really knows how to pick them.”

Melmarc wasn’t sure what that meant.

The lady was pale, as if she lacked time under the sun. She was so pale that her brown eyes seemed bright, even under the white lights of the hallway. She wore simple clothes, tight fitting pants and a hoodie.

It was still winter but this part of the country didn’t seem to see much snow, going by how nonexistent it had been since he’d gotten here. But it wasn’t like the weather was accommodating. It was still cold.

The lady was also—he noted—pretty.

And she knew it, because she smirked and said, “Don’t get lost looking at me like that, kid. What are you? Eighteen? Seventeen?” she came all the way down from the stairs. She looked up at him. “You’re a tall one, aren’t you?”

Melmarc didn’t get why she was calling him tall. He was just an inch past six feet. What would she say if she met Ark or Eroms?

Considering how short she was, maybe everyone was just tall to her. It was probably not a specific comment designed specially for him.

Melmarc’s mind was still going through the motions when he felt something hit him like a soundwave. It was like standing at a rave with really overenthusiastic speakers.

It hit him from the front and he half-expected himself to stagger. “What the hell?”

A notification popped up in front of him.

[Skill Bless Your Kindness has been applied on you.]

[Skill Bless Your Kindness takes effect.]

He saw the change on the lady’s face and frowned.

“What the hell was that for?” he asked, offended. “Did you just use a skill on me?”

She had half enough decency to look slightly chastised. The missing half of her decency was in the defiant look she gave him as if she refused to be embarrassed by what she’d done.

“Odd,” she said. “You weren’t supposed to feel that.”

“And that makes it okay?”

“Yeah. If you didn’t feel it, you wouldn’t be offended.”

Melmarc clenched his fists by his side to stall what might or might not be his anger. Right now he knew he was offended, but he was more confused by two things. One, the surprise of meeting someone with his own skill. Two, the surprise of having it used on him.

Tepez had claimed it felt like something was being taken from him back at Vlad’s mansion during their school trip. But this felt like someone had been trying to push him back.

Was it because of how the skills were applied? Or were the skills the same, but fundamentally different?

“You know, you’re the third person I’ve met who felt that,” she said. “The last two people to feel my skill had one thing in common. They also had the skill. I take it you’ve got the same skill, right?”

Melmarc didn’t ignore the fact that she didn’t apologize.

“That would make you a what?” she continued, “A Rogue? Scout? Ranger?”

“Is there a rule in this places that says I have to share my skill or Class?” Melmarc asked.

Anji hadn’t said anything about it. In fact, the boy hadn’t been the slightest bit interested in it. He’d only spoken about Basher because of the incident with the normal housemate and a Basher.

The lady stared at him a little longer, then grinned. “Tight-lipped, huh, Melmarc?”

Melmarc did his best to keep his discomfort from his face. So her skill had given her something about him. But how much?

She didn’t look like she was reading it on him. When she’d mentioned his name, she hadn’t sounded like she was reading it, she sounded like she simply knew it. But why just his first name, why not his middle name or his last name.

What else didn’t she get?

From the short encounter, she seemed like the kind of person that would’ve wanted to show off more. Judging by her smug expresson, she probably hadn’t seen his class. Because if she had, she wouldn’t have asked, and she wouldn’t be so smug knowing he might be able to use her skill right now.

Melmarc just stood there, wishing he was like Ark, always ready for a confrontation. But he was’t Ark. His approaches were less troublesome.

“So it’s supposed to be alright if the person doesn’t know,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice empty of his displeasure.

The lady shrugged. “What you don’t know won’t hurt you.”

Melmarc definitely didn’t agree with that logic. Emotionally, maybe not. But there was a lot in that one sentence, too much to only look at it from an emotional stand point.

“Anyway,” she said. “Since I know your name, it’s only fair that you know mine. I’m Ariadne, but you can call me Aria.”

If you can give me your name, why couldn’t you just ask for mine?

Ariadne cocked her head to the side. “You’re still angry. That’s sad. Because if you’re expecting an apology, you won’t be getting one.”

Was she serious? So she knew she was supposed to apologize but wasn’t going to. Intentionally.

“I take it this is your first time living with Gifted.” Ariadne walked backwards, heading for the stairs to the living room. “You’ll get used to it, eventually. We use our skills all the time for different things. It’s late. I’m heading out. If you’re hungry, there’s pasta in one of the pots in the kitchen, someone cooked. But I’ll advise you eat it slowly. It’s quite spicy.”

Then she was gone, rushing down the stairs.

Melmarc let out a sigh now that he was alone. He had considered using [Bless Your Kindness] back on her, give her a taste of her own medicine. But he’d changed his mind almost immediately. His range had increased since getting his class, and he hadn’t wanted to burden any other housemate that might be around with the effect of having the skill used on you.

He turned and made his way for his room. Barely ten minutes in, and he’d met two of his housemates. One seemed okay, and the other seemed not very nice.

One for one so far.

Melmarc fit his key in the lock of his door, opened it, and stepped inside. He locked the door behind him and let out a relaxing breath. He hadn’t known how much he’d wanted to leave the other place.

He’d known he wanted to leave, he just hadn’t known how much he’d wanted to.

Having his own room now, he knew.

The room wasn’t the largest, but it was ensuite with a shower and a bathtub. There was a reading table up against one side of the wall, and his own cupboard where he could hang up his clothes.

There was a bed large enough to accommodate two people, laid with fresh sheets. Right on top of one of its two pillows was a note.

Melmarc picked it up and read it.

Complimentary sheets on the house.

Keep the room clean, you aren’t the owner. You’ll use it and when you’re gone someone else will.

No girls allowed. Just kidding, bring all the girls you want. Hopefully, one at a time.

And don’t forget to have fun.

Regards,

Mr. Hitchcock.

“When did he even have the time to do this?” Melmarc wondered.

He hadn’t told him he’d be taking him up on the offer, at least not until two hours ago when he’d made the choice.

He remembered how Anji said he did a few things for Naymond that were often not so important. Was writing a note and arranging the room on a last minute notice one of those things?

Come to think of it. Melmarc folded up the note and placed it on the reading table. I’ve never seen Mr. Hitchcock’s handwriting.

He had a few calls to make, but tired, he found himself lying down on the bed without taking anything but his shoes off.

He was half asleep when his phone rang.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled it out and picked.

“Talk to me,” he said groggily.

“It’s not even ten yet,” Ark said. “You can’t tell me you’re already asleep.”

“I’m on my way there, and you’re the only thing standing in my way.”

“Well, good luck trying to get past me.” Ark laughed. “Also, Spitfire says good evening.”

“Is that a pet owner thing. Like a dog owner tells you their pet corgi is saying good night, or is your demon actually communicating with you?”

“Pet owner,” Ark answered. “And why Corgi?”

Melmarc shrugged. “Would you prefer a great Dane?”

“Maybe. So how was work?”

“Mentally derailing.”

“Why? Are the criminals that bad? Are their crimes taking a toll on your conscience?”

Ark was serious about it, and Melmarc wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Nothing that deep,” he answered. “They’ve kept me cooped up in the office for the past two days. At first I thought my mentor just likes us doing desk work, but I’m partnered up with a girl and she got to go out on patrol today.”

“Why didn’t you go with her?”

“Because my mentor insisted I had work to do in the office, stacking papers and arranging people’s offices.”

There was a short pause before Ark replied. “Sounds like your mentor’s making you do work you aren’t supposed to do. Do you think he’s abusing his power and making you clean up after everyone?”

Melmarc shook his head. “Not really. If I’m being honest, he doesn’t make me do anything. He just has this weird habit of meeting in other people’s offices. Come to think of it, I don’t even think he has an office. We spend a day in at least two different offices. And we don’t repeat offices.”

“Sounds like a fun guy.”

Melmarc rubbed his tired eyes. “Of course you’d like him. He does things that just seem impulsive. This morning, when my partner left, he started talking to me about the dynamics of portals and their effects on the Skills of a Gifted.”

“You’re making this guy sound like a cool dude.”

“Cooler than yours?”

Ark snorted. “You wish. I wrestled a freaking bull at a rodeo today.”

“Aren’t you supposed to ride those things at rodeos?”

“This one was massive and had muscles on its muscles. And it kind of ran rampant during the rodeo. We were just there to watch. I asked my mentor if I could help out when it started causing too much trouble and he told me to go for it. Best two minutes of my life.”

“Two minutes?” Melmarc asked, trying to sound engaging instead of sleepy. “Aren’t you supposed to be, like, really strong? You could’ve taken that thing down faster than that.”

“True, but I was trying out wrestling techniques.”

Melmarc groaned. “Please tell me you did not suplex a bull.”

“I suplexed a bull!”

Ark was laughing hard.

Great, he gets to suplex a bull, and I read things I know nothing about.

Melmarc didn’t want to wrestle a bull, though. And he didn’t want to go getting into dangerous situations. But he wanted to do something. Anything that got him out of the office.

He would’ve liked to say he was a good brother and listened to everything Ark had to say, but he didn’t. He fell asleep somewhere between a conversation about a girl Ark had met, and something about a wrestling match in a pit of mud.

Melmarc slept off and dreamt of stacks of papers and a man lying about a lie he couldn’t figure out.