This was the problem with planning in a vacuum. Hastur had struck me as more genuinely well-meaning than most of the gods I’d encountered. He wasn’t actively trying to kill me, didn’t pass around any classes or abilities that immediately made me a target, and was relatively straightforward about what his goal was. It was a low bar, but I’d still taken some small solace from it.

Now, though? That solace was gone.

Nick’s account changed things. Maybe I was wrong and Keith was a genuine threat, but it felt too tidy. Too convenient. It reeked of manipulation, gaslighting, with threads of psychological torture and brainwashing. Which was ironic as, now that I’d thought about it, he’d used similar tactics with me. I hadn’t recognized them for what they were because he’d been so damn positive in his delivery, almost edifying.

Probably why he’d gone that route.

Despite having everything in the world to say about his experiences, my temper had flared, and I didn’t want to get it wrong. So, instead, I spent most of the next hour telling Nick everything. And I mean everything. It took longer than I expected, spanning from the story of my father and the man who killed him, then jumping ahead to the first encounter with the Allfather of Chaos, to what really happened those first few days, to my encounter with Hastur and my side of things in the Tower—including the artifact and ability I’d gained.

His reactions were mixed. I could tell it hurt that I hadn’t shared my history, though he understood. When I admitted to withholding my User status in the early days, he tried to keep his face neutral but anger showed through. He was still angry when I told him about the events of the Transposition, but it felt as if that anger was no longer targeted solely at me. As I went on, detailing the astronomical amount of trouble holding the Ordinator class had put me in almost by default, his anger faded. When I told him what happened to Sae, tears welled up in his eyes. And by the time I finished outlining my abilities, including the new acquisition, he looked uncomfortable, maybe even a little scared.

Nick whistled a low pitch. “Well… based on everything you’ve said about it, guess it’s a good thing it was you who ended up as the Ordinator instead of some megalomaniacal asshole.”

I gave him a pointed look.

“I mean, you’re only an asshole sometimes,” Nick protested, and I couldn’t help but snort. “And you’re way less of an asshole than you could be, all things considered.”

“Thanks.”

“Seriously.” Nick’s expression was grave. “Think about what would have happened if the wrong person ended up with your class. Someone like Sunny.”

“Or Aaron.”

Nick shifted uncomfortably. “You’ve dropped bits and pieces about the trial over the years, but I didn’t know he was that Aaron.”

“Not really where I expected to find him either,” I admitted, sieving a clump of sand between my fingertips. “Bigger problem is… there’s a solid chance I am the wrong person. Or worse, the right one, if that’s what the Allfather’s going for.” Nick seemed to take issue with that, and I pressed ahead before he could cut me off. “Come on. I just told you my history.”

“Far as I’m concerned, the Givens asshole had it coming. He killed your fucking dad,” Nick snapped, oddly vehement. An incongruity struck me.

I studied Nick carefully, filtering out any accusation from my voice before I spoke. “I never called him by name.”

“Who?”

“The shooter.”

Nick opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. “You uh, must’ve at some point—”

“No. I didn’t,” I said.

“Fuck, fine, just chill with the third degree.” Nick massaged the bridge of his nose. “You went super cold the first time I asked about your dad, and it made me wonder if there was something more there. I might have gotten curious and looked him up when I was in the hospital with too much time on my hands, which eventually led to the discovery that not only was he dead—there was a puff piece in the telegram about a certain hero mom ‘defending her children.’”

I couldn’t believe it. Not what he was saying, but the subtext. “You already pieced it together.”

“No.” Nick shook his head, looking more than a little guilty. “I mean, not at first, anyway. Not until I met your mom and saw firsthand how timid she was while you were on the other side of the table, cold, calculated, and withdrawn.”

“And you still wanted to be friends?” I asked, more than a little dumbfounded.

“Course I did.” Nick shrugged. “And while it was harrowing to hear you tell it, I still feel the same way. I guess it’s an extreme example of what I’ve always admired about you. If you get it in your head that something unpleasant needs to be done, you don’t wring your hands or obsess over what might happen, or feel sorry for yourself. You just get it done. God. I wish I could do that. I really do.”

“Nick…” I started.

“Point is, so long as you’re being careful, the Ordinator class is in excellent hands,” Nick said, matter-of-factly.

I shook my head. “As much as I try to be vigilant and stick to my own rules, slipping is only a matter of time. With Suggestion, I originally meant to keep it on a short leash, only using it on monsters and explicit threats. That didn’t even last through the Transposition.”

“How so?” Nick asked.

Even with everything I’d already told him, I was ashamed to tell the story. “When I was heading home with the first haul of Lux, I’d just been jumped by those civilians in Region 9. I was scared, paranoid, hyperfocused on delivering the goods before someone took them from me. And there was this guy—more balls than brains, acting pseudo-alpha as a way of coping with his own fear—you know the type.”

Nick nodded.

“He got in my way, and I just… skewered him.” I grimaced. “Stripped his mental defenses and broke him down. No hesitation. It was almost instinctive. Didn’t even realize what I’d done until after.”

Nick’s eyebrows knitted together. “Which is why the suspiciously convenient pairing of the Devil’s Share and Subjugation scares the fuck out of you.”

I shivered. “It’d be so easy to go off the deep end if I got used to it. Start snapping off orders to anyone in earshot, for any reason. Literally manifest what I want to happen.”

“You can only use it on each person once, right? You’d run out eventually,” Nick tried, but even he had to know how weak that sounded.

“There’s a million people still trapped in the dome. It’d take a while,” I mumbled.

“As much as this idea sucks, you could just… not use it?”

I squinted out over the water. “Maybe.”

But I knew exactly how likely that was. I’d had countless chances to walk away from power, questionably sourced and otherwise. I never had.

“It’s what I would do.” Nick shrugged. “But that’s my problem. When I’m dealing with something difficult, I get so caught up in ethics and hypotheticals that more often than not I end up just passively hoping for the best. And then I have the gall to be shocked when it bites me in the ass. Like a fucking idiot.” The self-loathing in his voice was so poignant it was almost painful.

“Fuck Hastur.” I spoke before I fully realized what I was going to say.

Nick laughed nervously. “Thought you, uh, didn’t want to piss the gods off. And…” he trailed off, oddly small looking for his substantial frame. “On some level, I thought you’d agree with him.”

The words hit me like a slap in the face.

“What the hell?”

“I mean—” Nick spoke with his hands. “You’ve made it clear plenty of times you think I’m immature and naïve.”

“—I never said that.”

“But you’ve implied it.” He pointed a finger at me and raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t it be better, on some level, if we were just always aligned? If I didn’t push back every time you considered doing something I was uncomfortable with?”

That was wrong. And it was obvious how much Nick needed to hear the answer. I searched for the best way to put it into words, taking my time with it.

“Believe it or not, I used to be a lot more cynical. I thought I was enlightened, that my circumstances gave me special insight into the way the world really worked. That I had it all figured out, and anyone who had hope — genuine hope, for things to be better or different—was either lying to themselves or naïve idiots spinning fairytales. That the only reason they felt that way was because they hadn’t looked behind the curtain and seen the world for what it truly was. And that if they had, they’d be every bit as miserable and bitter as me.”

Nick wedged his feet into the sand. “What changed?”

“I met you.”

“Bullshit.” He rolled his eyes but didn’t look at me.

I ignored the denial and moved on. “I watched you lose things I never even had. Watched you lose everything. But despite what you went through, all the bullshit you endured, you were always so quick to help others. Even when it drained you, or ended up being a massive pain in the ass, you did it anyway. Somehow, you never stopped caring about people, no matter how badly they disappointed you.”

“Sounds idiotic.” Nick mumbled.

“No.” I shook my head. “It’s just your nature. You’re a good person, you’ve always been. And anyone who tries to smother that is a fool. We need people like you. Now more than ever.”

He stared down at the sand. “I’m not sure that’s true anymore, Matt. Not after what I did.”

“You didn’t do shit.”

“I was gonna—”

“You didn’t do shit,” I repeated. “And maybe I forced your hand, and you picked wrong in a moment of panic, but you had all the time in the world to end him before I got there. So no, Nick. I didn’t use Subjugation on you for a reason. Because I don’t want to change who you are.”

Despite the somber nature of the discussion, Nick smiled. “Sing my praises all you want, but you can’t preach being true to myself if the same doesn’t apply to you.”

I looked away. “It’s different.”

“It’s not.” Nick punched me in the shoulder. “If our roles were reversed — trust me, I would have tried like hell — but I don’t think I would make it here. Christ. You made some hard fucking calls. Maybe I get a few of them right, but not without turning into a whimpering sack of trauma potatoes on the floor. You were making these calls, and spinning a dozen other plates, all while drop-kicking the wolves from the door.”

“Too many metaphors,” I grumbled.

“Point is,” Nick let the word hang. “I wouldn’t change you either.” A cloud darkened his bright expression. “Though all this has me wondering where we go from here.”

“There are a few possibilities.” I sighed. “At the very least, I need to get Kinsley’s dad out. No clue how. Considering the extent everything’s spiraled out of control, we’re basically blown. But our best bet after that is probably to run. Keep squelch active 24-7 until we find a way to…”

Deal with the geas.

“You know,” I finished.

Nick frowned. “But… it’s weird.”

“What is?” I asked, only half-listening as I’d already started working how much of a pain in the ass getting out of the Tower and dodging the Order was going to be.

“The Order is full of killers, people with pre-dome combat experience. So it tracks that Hastur would want to harden up his less-experienced members.”

“Uhuh.”

Nick winced. “Uh, I realize what I’m about to say is probably pretty rude.”

“Just say it,” I said, drafting a message to Kinsley.

“Why the hell did he want you to change at all?”

“Because…” I trailed off, simultaneously seeing what he was driving at and finding myself completely clueless.

Huh. I hadn’t thought of it until now, mostly just chalked it up to offering me an incentive I hadn’t known I wanted, but Hastur had essentially tried to force a transformation with a result that would leave me and Nick in opposite spaces. A net zero. That was strange. Implied the existence of an angle I had yet to consider.

When I said as much, Nick jumped to his feet and nearly stumbled in the sand, eyes all but bugging out of his head. “Holy shit.”