Joshi chuckles nervously, sensing my apparent confusion, wiping his brow. “I mean, er-uhm… uh… the uhm…” He reaches for words in the air, talking with his hands. “Th-the cleanup, yes, the clean station is here, and then if you want to wash your hands, there’s a station over there. Let the spigot run a minute if you can. Gets the nasty gunk out of the water. It’ll come out orange, brown, sometimes green.” He titters. “But a minute will do it good, and it should run nice and clear. Just a little trick I picked up.”

“Uhm. Okay, thanks.” I have half a mind to ask him again about the witch comment, but he’s sweating bullets like he shouldn’t have said anything, so I let it go.

“No problem.” He plants his hands on his hips. His fidgeting settles and his smile grows. “Anything you need, you just let me know, or Stain….” He points to a dude with wide ears and sprigs for hair. This dude is friendly as hell. Talking to me all normal, like I’m not the weird oddball with gold arms, or worse, an enemy with magic.

“We’re the Orientators around here,” he says, his eyes glinting with pride.

Okay, so he’s always friendly like this. It’s odd to be actually welcomed so warmly. I gaze around, and now that I’m really looking, the stares are more curious than judgy. Behind the whispers even are mostly smiles.

“Stain,” he shouts. “New girl,” Joshi shouts, pointing at me as if it’s not obvious. Stain waves, as bubbly as Joshi, and I toss him a chin up.

“Well, thanks for the help,” I say, stepping up to the basin. I set my tray and utensil inside, then turn and come face-to-face with Willa.

“Back to the room, then?” she asks. But I don’t think it’s an actual question. Over my shoulder, Joshi’s waving, and I chuck him deuces. Behind him is a familiar face with a beanie on his head. Grag. His collar is pulled up and his hands are shoved in his pockets. We lock eyes and he waves. He jostles around with a few folks but keeps to himself mainly. He eats alone, then slinks back out the door he came through.

I still don’t know what to make of him. Whether he’s infiltrating the enemy and reporting back here or the other way around. I want to believe him. But is that because his story was actually believable or because I let him go? Lying to myself serves no one. Keeping my eyes on him.