Sorin woke on his second full day at the new job with a swirl of unease in his gut. Yesterday’s face-off with Calvin had been strangely exhilarating—he’d used Tier 1 tactics to seize a social win in front of coworkers, leaving Calvin humiliated. Still, the memory of that public clash gnawed at him: Had he crossed a moral line just to protect his pride?

He rose from the threadbare couch, glancing at Ravenor across the cramped living space. His mentor sipped black coffee in silence, offering only a curt nod in greeting. Sorin returned the nod and hurried out, not in the mood for philosophical banter about guilt or power.

Upon arriving at the office, Sorin noticed the hush in the atmosphere. A few coworkers whispered near the cubicles, and Trent (his quasi-supervisor) gave Sorin a brief, approving nod. No sign of Calvin—perhaps he was avoiding Sorin or simply in late.

Sorin settled at his desk, scanning leads on the computer. Day Two of proving I’m not a fluke. He’d anchored himself as a “fast learner” in front of Trent; any slip-ups could unravel that perception. He inhaled, steeling himself to keep calm.

His gaze drifted across the room, landing on Lena, the quiet admin who managed scheduling and file organization. She was hunched at her small desk, eyes cast downward, posture radiating stress. Something’s off, Sorin noted. The lines of worry on her face looked deeper than what he’d seen the day before.

He paused, recalling a moment from yesterday, his first official day. He’d asked Lena—politely, but with Mirroring and Positive Reinforcement—to handle a slew of last-minute file updates so he’d look good in front of Trent. She’d stayed late to help, flattered by Sorin’s praise. Was that the trigger for her current stress?

The thought unsettled him. Did I push her into working overtime? Did something slip through the cracks because of that? A knot of guilt twisted in his chest. He rose and approached her desk.

“Hey, Lena,” he said softly. “Everything okay? You look worried.”

She startled, blinking rapidly as she turned. “Oh—Sorin. Morning.” Her tone was hushed, face tight with fatigue.

“Long night?” Sorin tried for a gentle smile, matching her subdued posture—Mirroring without overdoing it.

A flicker of tension in her eyes. “Yeah, I was here late finishing those file updates you asked for. Then… well, something else got missed in Calvin’s schedule.” She bit her lip. “He found out this morning. Tore into me about ‘screwing up his leads.’”

Sorin’s stomach sank. So my request overshadowed Calvin’s tasks, leaving Lena to juggle both. And now Calvin had used it as ammunition. “I’m sorry,” Sorin said quietly. “I didn’t realize it would cause that kind of conflict.”

She let out a shaky sigh. “He’s furious. He told Trent I’m incompetent. I’m worried I’ll get a formal warning or worse.”

Guilt speared through Sorin. I manipulated her to help me, and Calvin pounced on the leftover errors. “Look, Lena, you’re not incompetent. You just had to handle two sets of requests at once. I can talk to Trent—tell him I piled too much on you last minute.”

Her eyes flickered with a hint of hope. “You’d do that?”

“Sure,” Sorin said, forcing a steady tone. “I never meant to sabotage your workload. It was my first day, I was panicking, and I might’ve, uh… over-encouraged you to focus on my stuff.”

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She nodded, swallowing hard. “Thank you. It’s just been… a rough morning. Calvin’s loud complaints got everyone staring at me. I feel like I messed up big time.”

Sorin’s heart twisted. This is exactly the kind of collateral Ravenor always shrugs off. “I’ll straighten it out,” he promised. “You did me a favor—least I can do is clear your name.”

She exhaled, eyes misting with relief. “Thanks, Sorin. I appreciate it.”

Sorin patted her shoulder, battling the moral disquiet that told him: I caused her meltdown with a neat Tier 1 blend of Mirroring and praise. Now here he was, using a soft, soothing approach—Active Listening—to comfort her, effectively consoling her for a situation he helped create.

Later, Sorin found Trent in the cramped breakroom, scrolling on his phone. “Hey,” Sorin said, voice low. “About Lena—she got flack from Calvin, but really, it’s on me. I kinda bombarded her with tasks last minute yesterday.”

Trent glanced up, brow furrowed. “I heard Calvin’s side. He was ranting about missing a lead.”

Sorin took a slow breath, choosing his words carefully. “Lena was swamped. I pushed my requests first, and that delayed Calvin’s. She’s not incompetent—she’s juggling a lot.”

Trent’s posture eased slightly, a sign of receptivity. “Huh. That changes things. Calvin did come in guns blazing, but I trust your perspective. I’ll cut her some slack.”

“Thanks,” Sorin said. “She’s good at her job—just overwhelmed.”

Trent nodded, tapping his phone. “I’ll talk to her. Appreciate the honesty, Sorin.”

As Trent left, Sorin felt a thin surge of relief. At least I mitigated some fallout. But the tension remained: If Tier 1 manipulations can cause this much hurt unwittingly, what if I push them further?

That afternoon, while typing out client follow-ups, Sorin sensed a presence at his cubicle. He glanced up to see Ravenor, somehow once again in the office, pretending to read a company flyer. Their eyes met. Sorin rose, stepping into the hall for some privacy.

Ravenor joined him, arching a brow. “Lena drama resolved?”

Sorin sighed. “Mostly. I told Trent it was my fault. She’s safe for now.”

A faint shrug from Ravenor. “Good. You see the pattern: a small tweak—asking her to do your tasks first—spirals into bigger consequences. That’s the nature of these manipulations.”

Sorin bristled. “I didn’t intend to harm her. I just wanted to look competent on day one.”

“Intentions matter less than outcomes,” Ravenor said, voice clinical. “You used Tier 1—Mirroring, positive feedback—to push her. Result? Collateral damage.”

Sorin’s gut churned. “I fucking hate that you call her ‘collateral damage.’ She’s a person.”

Ravenor’s eyes gleamed with that cool detachment Sorin both resented and envied. “You’re free to regret it. But if you plan to keep using these methods, expect more scenarios like this.”

Sorin swallowed, anger and guilt warring inside him. “So what do I do? Stop manipulating altogether?”

Ravenor’s lips twitched, almost a sneer. “Up to you. But recall how easily you overcame your rival Calvin using Tier 1. And how you pulled off a job offer. These wins come at a cost.”

The words stabbed deep. He’s right, but… “It shouldn’t have to be this way,” Sorin muttered. “I can be careful, right? Minimize harm.”

“Sure,” Ravenor said quietly, “but careful or not, you’re altering people’s choices. The line between help and harm is thinner than you think.”

Sorin closed his eyes, heart heavy. “I’m starting to see that.”

By the day’s end, Sorin headed home with a swirling mix of relief—at least Lena wasn’t in trouble—and self-loathing for having caused her distress. He recalled the confusion in her tearful eyes, the heartbreak in her voice. And how he’d used manipulative empathy to soothe the very pain he’d created.

Back at Ravenor’s place, he sank onto the couch, ignoring the stale odor of unwashed dishes. Ravenor hovered in the kitchen, rummaging for a snack. Sorin stared at the ceiling, the faint hum of city noise wafting through cracked windows.

This was just Tier 1, he thought, exhaustion seeping in. He hadn’t done anything blatantly extreme—just “harmless” nudges. Yet Lena was nearly broken by the ripple effect.

He pictured Ravenor’s face, that unreadable half-smile. And remembered Calvin’s humiliation, Lena’s tears, the near-eviction avoided through subtle con-games. A sense of creeping dread told him bigger manipulations would do far more than hurt a coworker’s feelings.

“If I can screw someone up this badly with basic tactics… how lethal would advanced methods be?” The question echoed until he drifted into a restless doze, haunted by the possibility that one day he’d cross a threshold he couldn’t come back from.