When I arrived, Gran was in the common room, sitting by the heater with a blanket over her knees and a paperback in her hands. The cover had a cartoon bloodstain on a teacup. She was frowning.
"You guessed the murderer already?"
"They gave it away with the chemist's boots on page twelve. I'm reading to see if the author thinks I'm stupid."
I snorted and sat down in the chair in front of hers.
"See?" I said, spreading my arms. "All limbs attached."
She eyed me from above her reading glasses, then marked her place and closed the book.
"Come here," she ordered after a moment, then pulled me into a hug as soon as I stepped closer. "Where did you learn to fight like that?"
Oh.
Well, VR games probably, but. That wouldn't be a smart reply here.
As I pulled back, I told her about the System contract, and that Llewellyn had been training me. It'd only been a single training session so far, but… I thought she might find it more reassuring than if I just answered 'VR games'.
Gran leaned back, adjusting her glasses. "That boy's in the news more than the weather. Am I going to be seeing you there just as often now?"
I winced. I didn't want to think about that.
I slumped into the armchair. "Only if you watch it," I mumbled.
Gran snorted, setting her book aside. "Well. Despite everything, you've got better color than last month, less gray around the edges."
Wait, did I? That was probably just all the Magic swirling around inside my body.
We drifted into small talk. I tempted Gran to play some Dungeon and Realms, but it was transfusion day and she was tired.
"Don't overdo it," she admonished when it was time for me to leave, pulling me into another hug. "And don't think I won't keep up with your shenanigans on national TV."
I grinned, but rubbed my temples as I headed out.
I really had to make sure to stay out of the news as much as possible.
Before I left, I tracked down her doctor to ask about her condition. It looked like she was stable, at least.
"At her age, the disease often proceeds slowly," she explained. "She's been lucky. Of course, we'll do everything we can to make sure she has the best quality of life for as long as possible."
Right. This was probably the best version of this conversation I was going to get.
As I walked home lost in my thoughts, it occurred to me that I'd taken those blood replenishment potions after the fight.
Gran was on weekly transfusions. Couldn't she take some too?
As far as I knew, most doctors didn't work with System-generated materials and consumables. They weren't tested in clinical trials and so, technically, they weren't approved for medical use and couldn't be prescribed. But surely magic could be beneficial here?
Granted, the duration of the potion I used was limited, but there might be different ones. I'd have to check.
I was halfway down the street, mulling this over, when someone stepped right in front of me.
The man had a phone out, recording, and a press badge hanging from his neck. Behind him, someone was following with a camera.
Ah, shit.
"You were just on the news fighting that Destabilized Artifact," the man said. "With Llewellyn."
My whole body locked up.
"Wrong person," I said, stepping around him.
He sidestepped with me.
I was sure I'd equipped a concealment artifact after leaving. I remembered doing it. Why could he spot me?
"What do you think about your sudden fame?" The reporter pushed the phone closer. His badge looked legitimate, but I didn't recognize the logo. "Must be overwhelming, going from nobody to Llewellyn's partner overnight."
I tried to move past him again. He blocked me.
"Move," I repeated, sharper.
"Just a few questions. The public deserves to know—"
I could feel the heat crawling up my throat. I clenched my jaw before I could tell him that the public could go fuck off, as far as I was concerned.
"Is it true Llewellyn recruited you personally? What's he like when he's not saving the world in silence? Cold? Arrogant? Or just used to getting away with things?"
My fingers tightened around the Concealment Coin in my pocket. I pressed harder, hoping to at least make things more difficult for the camera.
Nothing.
Something was off. I'd equipped a wearable AND I was trying to use the coin and neither was working.
"What's he really like?" the reporter continued. "Does he ever talk about why he refuses to speak up? Why does he hoard information about the Knots? Are you concerned that he left you out to bleed?"
"He clearly did not leave me to bleed," I gritted out. "Move."
"People are dying. You've seen that, haven't you? What do you think about him choosing silence again and again—while civilians clean up the aftermath? Do you ever wonder if he sees you as disposable too?"
I needed to get out of here.
"Isn't it fair to ask if he could stop more deaths? Why he never does interviews, or releases information, or engages with community response efforts? Don't survivors deserve answers? That he's deliberately keeping secrets—"
My blood was boiling. Should I just ask the System to teleport me away, right in front of him?
I could already see the posts about abusing System access to dodge public accountability.
"What made you want to work with him? Haven't you seen the concerns people are raising online? Don't you think they have a point about Llewellyn's methods?"
If this guy started quoting Hoverhasset at me, I was going to throw him into the drain myself. The man with the camera behind him kept recording.
"Get the fuck out of my way."
"So you're saying the public shouldn't have a say? Don't you think that keeping him accountable is important?"
"I said, get the fuck out of my way."
"Some viewers are wondering—if he can control Elemental forces at a Transcendent level, why do so many people still end up dead?"
The reporter's questions kept coming. The cameraman behind him kept recording. Every time I tried to sidestep, they got in my way.
"He's good at leaving bodies behind. Do you think he even remembers their faces, or are they just numbers to him now?"
"…" My hands were shaking. I only noticed once my fists were clenched.
"Does he ever explain how he chooses which lives to save and which to let rot? What's the ratio, would you say—lives saved versus lives shattered? Does Llewellyn ever save people for their sake, or only to watch them crawl away half-dead?"
That he could actually say that with a straight face—
What the fuck was wrong with these people?!
"With that kind of raw power and no accountability, don't you think Llewellyn's started to believe he's above consequence? Wouldn't you say online Knot activism is the only thing keeping him in check? They're raising awareness. They're building pressure. They're doing everything they can to create change—petitions, campaigns, public calls for action—because someone has to. Because Llewellyn can't be left to his own devices. Don't you think public opinion, the regular people, are well within their right to demand answers?"
Fuck this.
"I'm sure the online masses will save us next time a Knot appears," I gritted out. "Maybe if they post enough, or collect enough signatures, the Knots will just stop on their own. You know, to show solidarity."
I knew this was bad before I even finished the sentence, but my whole body had gone white hot and I couldn't shut up.
The reporter's eyes lit up.
"So you're saying the public's concerns are invalid? That ordinary people should just bleed to death for him and don't even question—"
"I'm saying get the fuck out of my way."
"You just left a nursing home," the reporter continued, glancing back at where I came from. "Visiting someone? Family, perhaps? I'm sure our viewers would love to know more about the person behind—"
My stomach sank.
"Don't you dare."
He smiled, sensing he'd found a nerve. "Public figures don't get to hide their—"
Water erupted from me in a wave. It was so high someone could've probably surfed on it.
It crashed over them, drenching them both, along with the camera.
They sputtered, stumbling back.
"My equipment!" The cameraman fumbled with his soaked camera.
"Is that how you treat the public? Keep rolling. The people should see this."
Fuck. I hadn't meant to do that.
I pushed past them while they were still wiping water from their faces.
"This is who Llewellyn picked?" the reporter went on, venomous. "Says a lot. When we saw the clips, we thought—maybe this person will keep Llewellyn accountable. Maybe he's someone who could make him see. Who can tell right from wrong. Maybe he'll be a good one to follow! Who can lead us out of these dark times! Maybe we have a new hero, now. We were wrong."
I stopped. Was he on drugs? I'd been seen with Llewellyn twice, and nothing of what had been shown had been even remotely heroic or virtuous.
I turned to look at him. "If I'm your idea of a moral leader, you're in worse shape than I thought."
"People will see this," he swiped his drenched hair back. "They'll see exactly what kind of person Llewellyn trusts. You act like you're here to save people, but that's a lie. They'll see this. They'll say you're no hero. They'll say you're not someone any community should look up to."
...What was everyone's obsession with communities these days?! That was the word people hid behind when they wanted blood. I'd watched them layer sanctimony on sanctimony, then burn someone for fun.
I wasn't going to play this fucking game.
"They'd be right. I'm not a good person—that's Llewellyn. I'm not here to save anyone either. What was your point again?"
"There it is. The truth, straight from Llewellyn's hand-picked mouth. Exactly what we expected. Just another fraud, pretending. A monster surrounding himself with monsters."
Calling Llewellyn a monster—
"Go fuck yourself," I said, seething. And left.
I ducked into the first alley I found, and asked the System to teleport me home.
My apartment materialized around me.
Penguin immediately bounded over, took one look at my face and started chittering anxiously.
"I'm okay," I told him, sinking onto the couch and rubbing a hand over my face. "But I just made a really fucking stupid mistake."