"Mr. Price?" called a voice from the front door. It clicked shut a moment later.

"Here," he called halfheartedly.

She walked into the second half of the tiny two-room apartment, where Nate was slouched across the couch, controller in one hand with his face half-covered by a pillow. His hand barely moved as he played, while she set down the bags of groceries on the counter.

Linda cleared her throat. "Mr. Price."

Nate grunted a low-effort "hmm," in response, not taking his eyes off the screen. He didn't even care about the game anymore. It got boring somewhere around the halfway point. He kept playing just because he hated giving up. It was practically an obligation that he finish, even if every single moment was utter tedium.

"Mr. Price, I have good news. We were able to secure a publisher."

His ears perked up. That was different than the usual speech. He paused the game and dragged himself up to a sitting position, knocking aside an empty bag of chips he'd forgotten about. "What does that mean?"

Nate didn't miss the faint look of disgust that crossed Linda's face. She worked for him, not the other way around. He was going to make them all rich. He deserved a little more respect, didn't he?

She spoke with the practice, measured cadence of a professional. "We've partnered with publishing firms in the past for anonymous stor—"

"I don't want it to be anonymous," he interrupted.

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm ready. I want to go public. Do everything."

Linda paused. "Mr. Price, from what you've told me, it seems very likely that you will be attacked if you go public. As your attorney—"

"You guys can protect me, though, right?"

"Our speciality is keeping clients under the radar. This sort of move is… well, the exact opposite."

"So are you saying I need a new lawyer?"

"Not exactly. But you may want to hire additional security as soon as possible, once you have the funding."

"You guys can't do it?"

She shook her head. "The firm can only allocate so much funding to each client."

"Linda, come on. Remember who I am?" Nate said, sitting up straighter. "You can pay for more. We'll make it all back and then some."

"We do have other clientele, Mr. Price."

"No way they're as important as this."

"I'm not at liberty to disclose that information."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever."

Linda went on, ignoring him. "In addition to the obvious potential threats from the public, you'll also be dealing with a great deal more federal scrutiny. You should expect a lot of pressure from the FBI, for one."

"I thought you said I was totally fine there?"

"You can't be charged with obstruction, since you never actually spoke to anyone from the federal government. But the moment you enter the public eye, you'll receive a summons for questioning. We can't exactly ignore that."

"Sure we can," said Nate, frowning. "We'll have money. My dad always said, money can buy you out of anything."

"Your father sounds like he was a fascinating man. Regardless, this will be under the banner of national security. They will bring you in for questioning, unless you want to flee the country and seek asylum?"

"...No."

"Good. I wouldn't advise it, either. Not a government on the planet will leave you alone. They'll all see you as a potential resource. Staying in the United States and in the public eye will afford you several advantages."

"I can't awaken anyone. I don't have anything."

Linda nodded. "As you've made quite clear."

"You still think I should leave that in the book?"

She nodded again. "Any alterations will cast doubt over the legitimacy of your story. There's only so much we can change in the original journal before even the most subtle edits become blatant." She sighed. "As much as I feel it'd be socially responsible to hide the process of acquiring magic, it's simply unavoidable. You will be questioned on it, and it will come out. It's better to head it off immediately."

"Socially responsible?" he smirked.

"As I said, Mr. Price, you aren't our only client."

"Whatever." He leaned back on the couch again and put his feet up, just because he knew it would annoy her. "So you said you found a publisher?"

"Well, if you want to go public, that changes things a little."

"How so?"

Linda shrugged. "There's no need to play coy. I can take this straight to the top of the Times Bestseller list, if you prefer, and get you right onto the talk shows."

"But—"

"On a video conference, of course. Or, if you'll allow, we'll bring the host to you. That sort of interview tends to go a lot smoother. More chemistry, less awkward pausing for the transmission delay."

"...Okay, yeah. That sounds good."

She gathered up the papers she'd brought in. "In that case, I'll get right to work. Unless there's anything else?"

"Uhh… yeah. Did you— was there any more news on Hailey?"

"No. Agent Ashe is now denying that video's legitimacy."

Nate felt a wave of disappointment. He always liked Hailey. He'd wanted to ask her out a few times, actually, but she'd always been so close with Weston, up until the last year where she seemed to just disappear from campus entirely. Nate didn't believe for a second she was dead, but he'd been hoping she might be just like him — itching to get back into the world for real. He didn't want to be alone, but he definitely wanted to be first.

Nobody would ever forget who was first.

"If you'll come right this way, please," Linda was saying. Nate waited impatiently in a windowless room, while the hired security quadruple-checked everyone coming in. No cameras, no hidden recording devices. Absolutely nothing that could be used to leak the story.

Not yet.

Even with the precautions, he was sweating. These were the first new people he'd speak to since Linda had taken him into hiding, months before. They'd spent so long debating, planning, preparing. Going over every inch of the journals, covering the story in detail, making sure everything held together. Everything fit. This was the real test, with publishers and reporters getting the first glimpse. Could they control the story the way they wanted to?

Linda had done her job well. Nate recognized several of the reporters sitting in the room, and he barely ever watched the news. He assumed all of the eight were either big names, or the journalists behind the big names.

"All right, Linda," said one irritated-looking man, who seemed to be acting as the voice of the group. "Cloak and dagger shit is done, you've gone full-TSA on us. What's this life-changing story?"

"Just one more minute," Linda replied smoothly, not intimidated even slightly by his imposing figure. "We're acting on behalf of the survivor, our client."

That piqued their interest. "The survivor?" Ted Winters gasped. "You mean… this is about—"

"Of course it's about Rallsburg," huffed the leader. "Why else would you be here, Ted? You're small potatoes."

"I—"

"Lay off, Phil," cut in a bespectacled, messy-haired woman, laying a hand on his shoulder. Nate guessed she must be a print journalist, not a reporter or an anchor. "He broke the story. He gets a cut."

"He got lucky."

"He got lucky and he carried it through," added another man, leaning against the wall. His hand kept reaching for his pocket to grab his phone, only to find nothing there, like a nervous tic. "Ted put in some quality journalism in those follow-up pieces. Not ambulance-chasing crap either. He really put the screws to the FBI when they were coming up with squat. Give him some credit."

Phil seemed even more irritated, but Ted looked surprised. "Thanks, Felix."

"No sweat. I was impressed."

Linda exited the room while they continued to talk, complaining about the uncomfortable muggy room, the secrecy, the heavy embargo they'd all signed in exchange for exclusive access to interviews and advance excerpts of a book they knew nothing about. She walked down the hall to join Nate on the other side of the one-way mirror, where Nate sat in the shadows watching them all.

"Are you ready, Mr. Price?"

He tried to swallow down the anxiety in his throat. "Just like we planned, right?"

"Exactly. Do you need anything? Water?"

He shook his head, even though his throat felt dry already. He just wanted to get it over with.

Linda clicked on an intercom button, and a faint hiss of speaker noise filled both rooms. She moved back to stand behind Nate slightly, holding a remote in her hand as she spoke.

"Thank you all for your patience. My client is ready to speak with you now. I'd like to remind you all once again that all information from this conference is under full embargo. You are not to publish a single word on this story without our consent or you will lose your exclusive access."

There was a brief wave of nods through the eight in the room, some more nervous than others. Ted Winters in particular looked like he felt totally outclassed. He kept tugging at his collar, as if his shirt was choking him.

"Thank you." Without another moment of build-up, Linda clicked on the lights. Nate squinted as the harsh light bathed them before he adjusted. As his vision came back, he was greeted with seven blank stares.

"...Who's that supposed to be?" asked Phil.

"No idea," added the bespectacled woman.

Nate was fuming. He'd been feeling nervous until that moment, but it all suddenly washed away. "You don't know?" he asked. "How can you not know who I am?"

"Look, kid, it's a tiny-ass town," said Phil, "but I didn't memorize the whole damn population."

"But… Hailey—"

"She plays great on screen." He shrugged. "Sorry."

"That's… Nathaniel Price," said Ted Winters hesitantly. "The heir of the Price logging company."

"Finally!" said Nate. "Yeah, that's me. I'm the survivor."

No one looked particularly impressed. Ted at least looked interested, but even the bespectacled woman looked bored. She wasn't even looking at him. "Linda, a month ago this would have been huge. But other survivors have been found. There's still a manhunt for them in B.C."

"Dan and Boris aren't gonna talk to you though," Nate pointed out, before Linda could even speak. He was angry now. "I will. And I've got something they don't."

"Like what?" asked Phil dryly.

It wasn't time yet, but Nate didn't care. He wanted them to know who he was. He'd been practicing magic every day since Rallsburg, even more-so since there wasn't much else to do in the safehouse. Even video games got old eventually.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ruby, half the size of his fist. With his palm up and the ruby right in the middle, he looked Phil, that annoying arrogant reporter, right in the eye.

"Mr. Price…" whispered Linda.

Nate ignored her.

In every corner of the room on their side, the ceiling burst outward. Jets of flame shot downward, rushing to the floor. The flames began to spread across the floor.

Ted Winters shrieked. The rest of them scrambled out of their chairs, huddled together as the circle of flames began to inch inward. Nate felt a rush of confused emotions. On the one hand, seeing the look on Phil's face was utterly satisfying—but the rest of them?

"Mr. Price," Linda repeated more firmly. She didn't sound scared in the slightest, merely annoyed.

With relief, Nate took that as an excuse to turn the flames around. They weren't in any real danger, and he didn't actually want to hurt anyone, but they looked terrified. He'd done what he wanted.

Nate picked an emerald out of his pocket and set it next to the quickly-darkening ruby. He choked out the flames, and — in a rough burst of magic that had him gasping for breath — replaced them with a new trick of his own.

Ice sculptures seemed to grow out of thin air, thin crystalline structures in the shape of the flames that had just dissipated. Nate changed the temperature of the room fast enough that the ice wouldn't melt, though it cost him the rest of the emerald, shattered into dust in his palm. To the eyes of the reporters, it looked like the fire itself froze.

It wasn't the fire, though. Nate had tried that, but all he'd ended up doing was choking out the flames again. Instead, he'd learned a way to flash-freeze water. Nate wanted to learn how to manipulate water directly, like Makoto, and this was a start. Using the water vapor in the room (which they'd deliberately prepared as far more humid than usual), Nate picked out the shapes he wanted froze them, forcing them to expand to visible sculptures.

The moment anyone so much as breathed on them, the incredibly thin, brittle ice would shatter into a million tiny pieces — but for a few moments the effect was stunning.

Nate grinned at the dumbfounded reporters.

"Impressed now?"