I never put much stock in people who claimed they could feel storms before they hit. There's something to be said for atmospheric shifts, the way the air gets heavy and clings to your skin. It's easy enough to look up and see the clouds rolling in, hear distant thunder. That's not what I'm referring to. I'm talking about feeling something coming with no tangible correlation. An ache in the bones on a cloudless day, when the stillness makes the hairs on your arm stand on end. Silly. Unscientific.

But I felt it then.

"I bought you a fucking milkshake," Miles snapped, the condemnation in his voice echoing across the clearing. His blade arm hadn't budged, but that didn't mean anything. For all I knew, the barely concealed blade was a distraction—meant to draw attention before he drew a sawn-off and blew me away.

"You did," I agreed. Wasn't sure why the milkshake, in particular, registered so highly out of so many other transgressions, but making light of it seemed categorically unwise.

His eyes darted back and forth, seeking meaning in memory. "It was real. It had to be real."

"And expensive given the venue."

"Not the drink, shitheel." Miles' mouth tightened in revulsion. "When I let it slip that you were about to be interrogated, you had a full-blown, hyperventilating, pulse-fluttering-in-your-neck panic attack. You can't fake a physiological reaction. No one's that good."

"It wasn't fake," I said, unsure if coming fully clean would help me or hurt me. "If there's anything I have in spades, it's anxiety. Took a long time to learn to repress it. But breaking a dam is always easier than building one."

Miles paused, then threw back his head and laughed, the sound harsh and brittle. "Right. So you just... let it out. Timed it perfectly to give the sucker turning the screws a terminal case of hesitation. Felt guilty for weeks, by the way. Worried I ruined some poor kid's life."

I was tired of Miles' pursuit. Fed up with how he was always watching, waiting for me to make a mistake. So it wasn't wise, but I snapped back. "Might be time to jump off the high horse, Miles, because the way I remember it, neither of us were blameless. Was using your insecurity and paternal instinct against you shitty? Sure. Would I have preferred to handle it literally any other way? Absolutely. But some dickhead who thinks his half-baked authority transcends the apocalypse ambushed and caught me out, so my options were limited."

"Were you just... laughing at me the whole time?" The question was oddly cold. Clinical in the same way a doctor's might be at the end of the appointment. Checking off the boxes.

His blade hand stirred.

activated reflexively, revealing countless crimson strands strung between us, our environment, and our summons. The exchange played out before me like it was actually happening.

Miles drew a repeater crossbow from his inventory, firing the first few shots from the hip before he raised the weapon and steadied it over his knife arm. The next shots would be more accurate—predictive, even corrective if I was too obvious with .

But he wouldn't have long. Talia and Azure broke out of the tree-line at a dead sprint, rushing him down from behind. Miles would have to split his attention between them and me—

No.

Miles is a hell of a shot. Based on our previous encounters, he'll use something with a payload. Azure goes down with a single bolt to the head, Talia not long after. Audrey has a terrain advantage, but it's a gamble if she's even paying close enough attention to factor. His hawk will go for my eyes, slow me down. By the time the summons are dispatched, he'll lose the range, but still have the garrote and blade to fall back on. And a knife fight with Miles ends badly for both of us.

The premonition faded, and I slowly shook my head. "Listen. I've never toyed with you. Not once. Even if I had room to fuck around and was so inclined, I wouldn't. You've been locked onto me since the day we met. And unlike the psychos they train you to hunt at the academy, I'm not trying to get caught."

"Odd thing to emphasize, given the confession," Miles returned.

"Please." I bared my teeth in the facsimile of a smile. "It hardly mattered. Even if I denied it, came back with an airtight alibi, pressured your conjecture on summons in a way that would clear me to any other rational person, it still wouldn't be enough. Hell, literally seeing me in the same room as Myrddin didn't buy me more than a month. Because you've always known. And someone like you doesn't just let things go."

A tremor went through him. "If you'd come to me, after the transposition, I would have helped you, god dammit."

"Please."

"No. I mean it." Miles took an angry step forward, then stopped. "We were in the shit together. I watched you put your neck on the line for everyone in that goddamn region."

"If things had been different, I might have," I admitted. Looking back, I'd often wondered if I'd taken the system directive to conceal my identity from other Users too stringently. "There was too much I had to do that would have been impossible to manage with a fed monitoring my every move."

"Yeah. Put a little of that together." Miles half-shrugged, expression growing frigid. "A lot of powerful, yet bizarrely unaffiliated Users closing their own maps lately." He manipulated the blade in his hand in idle back-rolls, no longer bothering to conceal it. "Vernon wasn't your first. As it turned out, he wasn't your second, either. But a guy's gotta wonder. How many people have you killed, since the three-stooges at the transposition?"

I stiffened. "Nobody who didn't have it coming."

"See, that's the thing." Miles scratched the back of his head. "By what metric? Because from where I'm standing, it sort of looks like you're making up the rules as you go. Those who abide by the rule of Matt get to live, and those who don't..." He let it hang.

"Fuck yourself," I snarled. "We're an endangered species now, Miles. Anyone who understands that and acts accordingly has nothing to worry about. But if you want to play bleeding heart for the dipshits exploiting others' desperation and preying on them, go nuts."

He held my stare for a long time before he looked away. "Let's just deescalate a little. Since you're coming clean, there's a few things that bear explanation. For instance, how were Peter Parker and Spiderman in the same room, at the same time?"

Not happening. Not for free. I stonewalled. "I'd be real stupid to explain anything about my abilities or skill set until I have a better idea of how this plays out."

"Was it the mind control? It's probably the mind control."

The words hit like a haymaker. Simultaneously, it occurred to me that my decision to monitor Miles less after our last meet cute in the tower may have been the wrong call. In the moment it made perfect sense. We were no longer strictly enemies, but the neutral ground occupied was shaky at best. And since we were in regular contact, there was a real possibility of slipping; subconsciously referring to something either Matt or Myrddin had no business knowing. Miles being Miles, the slightest mistake could give me away. So I'd tapered back, assuming he'd be less relentless after his bounty was cleared.

Apparently, I'd been wrong.

I hit back quickly, not leaving room for even a second's hesitation. A snort, followed by a short laugh. "MKUltra, much? I thought the alphabet agencies left that shit behind in the seventies."

An icy breeze blew in, ruffling the surrounding trees.

"So," Miles said, chewing the words. "You do have a tell."

I weathered a sudden flurry of fear and anxiety, keeping my face expressionless. Because however perceptive Miles was, I was dead sure he was wrong. You can train yourself out of a tell. Teach yourself to notice when your knee begins to bounce, monitor when you break eye contact, heighten your awareness of unwanted facial ticks. The problem with all of this is that it's artificial, and often counter-intuitive. A still face can be as treacherous as a smirk, and a typically restless leg becomes traitorous if still. Because it's not any single physical action that gives you away. It's the departure from the baseline. If your baseline is a twitching, stimming, smirking mess, the last thing you want is to stop doing any of those things the moment you're pressed.

You have to get out of the mindset of telling a lie. Construct a false narrative in your mind, as close to reality as possible only with the details you want changed. Bolster that narrative with false memories that strike you as raw, grounded, even uncomfortable. Bonus points if those narratives and memories include some small personal failing you may choose not to divulge. Think about how plausible it is. How easily it could have happened.

Do that, and you'll never have a tell.

I'd been following the same advice for as long as I could remember. So, denying the immediate instinct to pivot, I played it out.

"Mind control," I repeated flatly. When Miles didn't offer anything more, just watched, measuring my reaction, I continued. "Okay, fine. Let's run with it. The Ordinator has magical mind control powers." I made a show of mulling it over. "It would put me in an impossible position if I ever needed to prove myself. Makes reaching any level of trust unattainable. You couldn't even trust your own impressions of me, let alone anything I said."

Miles nodded, agreeing.

I drew the blade. "I suppose... it'd be convenient, in a way."

"Explain a lot about how you've accomplished as much as you have, despite your age and lack of experience," he added.

"And..." I drove it home. "Provides a nice, tidy explanation for how you got played so easily. Absolves you from blame and assuages any personal responsibility and guilt, all in one fell stroke."

"Ouch." Miles grinned savagely, something predatory behind his eyes. "Thought you were above toying with me."

I shrugged it off. "People don't like baseless accusations. Maybe the cop in you can't understand that." A flash of feathers was briefly visible through the tree-line. Miles' hawk, circling counterclockwise behind me. "I get where you're coming from. We may not be friends, but we're entangled. And it's always easier to believe you were manipulated by forces outside your control than it is to accept you just... missed something that was right in front of you."

"Alright, smart guy." Miles took in a deep breath, let it out, clenched a fist at his side then released it. It was part of his centering process, and I'd witnessed the same process dozens of times when we were marooned, clearing his bounty. He'd be more focused now. Less emotional. "I'll level with you. Unlike the summons, I don't have anything hard to go off of. What I have is experience." He stared through me, his green eyes piercing and malevolent. "Remember Roderick?"

"Self-proclaimed king of the crackhouse? How could I forget?"

"Uhuh." Miles wandered, pacing in a circle. I mirrored him just to maintain the distance, keeping an eye on my surroundings in case he was trying to intentionally reposition us, jockeying for some sort of advantage. "Word is you really got under his skin during the transposition."

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"I'm aware."

"Undermined his authority in front of his people, threatened his life, forced his cooperation in an operation he probably wouldn't have volunteered for if not for points one and two. Sat in when Tyler talked to him before the open forum. He was so gung-ho to bring you down I advised the Adventurer's Guild not to rely on him in any meaningful way. Would have done that regardless—the man is trash—but pissed as he was, the hair-trigger would be more hindrance than help." Miles recalled, his expression blank. "Which made it all the stranger when, after weeks of no results, I stopped by again, alone that time, expecting an earful."

He has nothing.

"Didn't get it?" I asked.

"Hell, I can't even say for certain that it was really Roderick." Miles shook his head, puzzled. "For someone who’s spent the last decade as the personification of a walking piece of shit, he was suddenly... elevated. Above it all. Seemed completely indifferent to where we were at, finding you, and even seemed to consider the whole thing a waste of time. He—Jesus—actually had the gall to tell me we should focus on rebuilding the city instead."

Again, I shrugged. "There's plenty of plausible explanations for the lack of interest. Could be he lost faith in the authorities and decided to handle it himself. Or, he might have concluded that focusing his attention on a single person was a waste of time."

"Sure." Miles looked nauseous. "If I didn't know damn well how long the man can hold a grudge. Roderick doesn't play nice when slighted. If he decides to handle something himself, it's hardly subtle. His favored brand of retaliation is impulsive, violent, and swift. You could fill a mausoleum with the ex-associates who learned that lesson trying to drop a dime."

"Then it must be mind control," I mocked.

"Yeah. It's easy to joke about. Present company excluded, reading people has always been my area of expertise. And the hate he had for you isn't the sort that just goes away. If he was hiding it, there would have at least been a trace of resentment." Miles said, a little disturbed. "But there wasn't. Not even a hint." He clapped his thigh. "That's just one person, of course. But there's more. Others who met Myrddin on the worst day of their lives and somehow hold very little enmity for that outcome."

"For fuck's sake." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Miles. If even a fraction of what you're hinting at is true, why the hell are we standing here? What kind of idiot would I be if I had the ability to just traipse into someone's literal brain chemistry, alter thoughts and perceptions—and still let you get this close?"

"A weird one. Could be your own internal rules holding you back, could be some other limitation. Anyone can fall victim to hubris, or the literal opposite, realize the wisdom of not targeting Users with patrons." Miles smiled, natural charm and charisma shining through. "Tempted to start blowing smoke up your ass and start making shit up, but we both know I don't stand a snowball's chance in hell of proving anything. And clearly, I'm not infallible. So if I'm wrong, go ahead and tell me that."

Miles held up a hand as I opened my mouth to immediately deny it, cutting me off. "But. If I'm right, you should really think about what you want to say. Consider taking the opportunity to clear the slate. Because I'm willing to have an open mind. There's a lot I can tolerate. But if I find out you played me again, there will be no third conversation."

At first, it was obvious what I had to do. Deny, deny, deny. Miles was sticking to the cop playbook. "You've already confessed to a crime, are you sure you don't want to confess to more? Make the conviction a little juicier for me?" was as obvious as it got. The inevitable response was to push back with a clear, decisive denial.

But was it really?

The mind games were folding back on themselves, creating layer after layer, each growing exponentially more difficult to parse. If he was already planning on putting me in the ground either way, the answer didn't matter. But if that was the plan, he was taking a huge risk confronting me in an isolated location.

I shot a quick glance behind me, confirming what I already knew. We'd been talking for some time. There was still a small crowd's worth of people around, some pilfering the goblin base, others lingering near the elevators. The population was sparse and distant enough that it'd be difficult for a random rogue or stealth User to hide their approach, at least until the artificial suns set, and we were hours from that. The easiest—

"What are you looking for?" Miles asked.

I shot him a wry smile. "Just wondering where you put the sniper."

"No shooters. Went light on contingencies, as far as backup goes. Didn't want to drag anyone else into the crossfire," Miles claimed, earnest as they come.

But something about the way he said it felt truthful. If it was, he was taking an enormous risk, handling things this way. Factoring in the summons and suspected mind control, it went beyond risk and bordered on stupid. Even if he'd worked out that his patron protected him from mental tampering, he still had too much to lose, going out on a limb like this.

That's the wrong way to look at it. What does he stand to gain?

Feds tend to view people who fall under their purview the same way people view possessions. The average fed doesn't care why you're doing what you're doing. They'll happily ruin your life either way. Empathy isn't the job. What they really care about is how much leverage you can give them, and whether or not that leverage leads to a bigger score.

The lack of backup, and the brazenness of the approach, could only mean one thing. Miles wasn't looking for reasons to kill me. He still needed reassurance, had to confirm that the abilities I'd concealed posed no threat to him, but his true intentions lay elsewhere. Because he'd already played it out beforehand, and realized that if it was true, it was everything. Surveillance, interrogation, psychological reprogramming. Every lascivious facet of big brother's wet dream, all unilaterally accessible through my skillset. He—or more specifically, the people he answered to—could shape the way society reformed, after the games were over.

For the first time in ages, I felt like myself again. Comfortable. In control. I swapped to , feeling the patina of cynicism alter my perception like sandpaper. I disliked the title. It tended to skew things negatively and make me edgier, sometimes even less rational.

But I needed it for this.

I looked up towards the descending suns, and watched them slowly travel towards the horizon, lost in thought. "It's getting late, Miles."

"It is," he agreed.

Only to be amicable. He's fully prepared to stay out here all day and night if it gets him a resolution.

The title was functioning effectively. If there was any sort of interference, it tended to go quieter, more circumspect. No static from whatever precautions Miles had taken.

"Part of me is inclined to just... send you my character sheet and be done with it." I rubbed my face, hiding a smirk at the way he immediately perked up.

"That would save us both a lot of time," Miles agreed, hiding his eagerness well. "You'll feel better, Matt. Unburdening."

Fully hooked.

"Then in the spirit of sharing, I'd like some insights into what will happen immediately after," I said, all perfectly reasonable. "Because again, I'd be a special kind of stupid to hand you the rope you're about to hang me with."

Miles' eyes narrowed. The cop in him didn't want to budge, didn't want to cede a fraction of power, especially when he finally held the advantage. In the end, the human side won out. He sighed. "I maneuvered things the way I did, with the Adventurer's Guild this afternoon, specifically because I haven't made a decision and don't want to rush it."

I thought back to how he'd floated the concept of an advance team earlier in the day, how Tyler jumped on it later, and had to admire the workmanship. "So this is an evaluation period."

"Of a sort." Miles made a dismissive gesture. "Obviously, stopping the second transposition comes first. That's the real goal. But it also gives me a perfect excuse to monitor you in a mostly isolated, next-to-controlled environment. Get a sense of how you really operate with other people, and without."

"All the while putting distance between me and the privileges the Merchant's Guild and being a region leader provides," I filled in.

"Happy byproduct." Miles shrugged. "But yes, that's true."

"Great. What happens after the tower?" I asked, point-blank.

"Depends." Miles hedged. "If everything pans out, nothing changes. No reason what you are needs to come out. You carry on with one less monkey on your back. Maybe, from time to time, you partner with said monkey on joint interests—in which case, I should really try to see about getting you on the payroll."

I'd already figured as much, but it was nice to hear it confirmed out loud, lacking objection from .

"Fair enough. And if you decide I'm too dangerous for that?" I pressed.

"Then... it gets a little more complicated." Miles looked down, jaw working as he decided what he wanted to say. "Your mother's been through enough. Speaking from the heart here, I'd like to keep you alive. Bring you in quietly. Have a little tête-à-tête with a few Guild Masters and the rest of the powers that be, figure out an effective method of confinement. Develop measures to ensure you're not Epsteined for the Overseer's bounty. That much, I owe you."

Kept it honest almost until the end. He'd like to keep me alive. But he knows I won't bend until I break. My behavior during the transposition taught him that if nothing else. He even confirmed it'll be too difficult to deal with this outside the tower with politics involved. So he won't chance it. If he decides I pose too much of a threat, he'll close me out before the finish line. Blame the tower for my death. Calculated. Not to mention convenient.

That was fine. So long as he was being truthful about the potential of a positive outcome—which my title confirmed—the rest hardly mattered. Barring an ample display of edge-lord mustache twirling, what I had to offer was too tantalizing for someone like Miles to ignore almost regardless of what I did.

I was almost certain.

But as I pulled up my character sheet, my heart hammered in my throat. From experience, only the titles would come through blanked out. Redacted. Everything else would be right there. Every dirty trick, every failsafe, reduced to simple, legible text.

The textbook of my undoing.

It wasn't ideal. And it was beyond uncomfortable. But it was the only way Miles could realistically believe I wasn't holding anything back. The first step in building trust.

"When you read this, you'll find the answers to a lot of questions. You'll also—reasonably—be alarmed. Reread the stat requirements of certain abilities before striking out in a blind panic. Also consider that yes, I give anyone with a patron a wide berth." I paused before adding more. "Like you said before, there are hard limitations. But there are also rules. Family, friends, and allies were always off limits. That was the line from the beginning, and it's the line now."

Miles nodded, tension between us growing as he stuck his hands in his pockets and waited.

I sent it. In part expecting, almost hoping that it wouldn't go through, communication squelched in the Tower's interference the same way direct messages were. Relocating to the lobby would at least grant the possibility of a head start.

But from the way his brow furrowed, and his eyes glazed over in focus, no such luck.

"Do you want me to explain anything or..."

"No." Short. Sharp. "Need to work through this on my own."

"Then… am I free to go?" I asked, cringing a little at the wording. Even if it was pretty accurate to where we were now, it still felt strange to vocalize.

Miles looked over the invisible screen and gave me a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. Maybe it was just the fading light, but he seemed paler than before. "Well. I get the sense you're coming back here eventually, regardless of outcome. On the off-chance I'm wrong and you abandon the tower entirely, the two of us share the curse of familiarity. Which gives me more than a few ideas on where to apply pressure."

Bastard.

"It goes both ways." I thought of Hawkins, the rest of the feds. They were family to Miles. Most of them were civilians, almost entirely unprotected from what an Ordinator could dish out. He had real family too, but I didn't even want to think about going there. "Better to avoid that if possible."

"Agreed," Miles said, something dangerous in his tone. "So long as you show up tomorrow and don't take any cheap shots? We keep this between us."

"Done."

He read something else on the sheet, something he didn't like, before he looked up and added. "Might be best if you head straight back and stick around your penthouse tonight. Ease of mind."

"Not a problem. Need to crash anyway."

It wasn't trust, him letting me go. He had everything he needed to fuck me over, which made him confident enough to slacken the lead. It was about not escalating before he was ready. An amateur would double down, stick me in a cell or padlocked room for the night as a reminder of who was in charge. But there were eyes everywhere. Inevitable rumors would spread. And if our little outing ended with Miles cashing me out, it would look a hell of a lot worse for him than it would if I simply left the tower and returned of my own accord.

Miles was playing a different game now.

So was I.

Because as much as it was in my nature to spin, to try to explain away every ability and the circumstances in which I'd used them, Miles was sharp enough to draw his own conclusions. Both of what I'd accomplished, and what I hadn't, despite having the obvious ability to do so. Connecting the lines for him would only cast unwanted doubt and convey desperation.

I passed several Users on my way back to the elevator, waved, reluctantly received numerous slaps on the back. Even paused to chat with a small group of Adventurer's Guild hopefuls a little younger than me. It was important to appear unhurried. Because shortly, Miles would notice there was no simple answer on the sheet to his previous question. A question more critical than he realized. How I'd pulled off occupying the same space as Myrddin simultaneously.

Azure's ability to act as a doppelgänger was the last card I had. My summon was more comfortable playing Myrddin than Matt under scrutiny, but the performance would be convincing enough to buy me a few priceless hours to maneuver and set my affairs in order.

I needed to make the most of it.