“Come on,” the kid says, “everyone knows that ALISS fucked up with the balance in what it picked for family names. Casts a lot of shade on its claims to impartiality in maintaining genetic variance too.”

“I’m just saying what I’ve heard,” Spider says, palms up like a shield. He has the self-assured, destructive manner of too many jocks Misery knows.

“Are you arguing with someone who’s done a whole thesis on this? I’m a fucking genius, I’ll have you know.”

“Not genius enough to realize you can’t pass as an adult.”

Tank winds up, ready to plant her fist in the soft tissue of Spider’s throat, a fight she’ll surely lose. Misery tenses, gearing for the clash—she could sort them out—when they are interrupted.

“May I ask a question?”

The voice cuts through the tension. Ghost, the white saint, sits rod-straight and clear-eyed, attention fixed on Misery. All curiosity and innocence. The serving goes quiet, unsettled, petty arguments forgotten. Ghost has not spoken until now.

“Are you speaking to me?” Misery asks.

“Yes.” Their attention remains undivided and unwavering. “May I ask a question?”

She wants to know what it is. What goes through this strange creature’s mind, what concerns are lodged in their heart. “Ask away.”

“You’re a nixen,” Ghost says. They speak clear and soft, like someone learned and gentle. “But it says on your profile that you use they and she pronouns. I don’t understand that.”

“What about it don’t you understand?”

They think it over, slow and deliberate. “I don’t really understand pronouns in general. I use the ones I was given. But you have two. Why is that? How did you decide?”

She had not expected this. It’s almost endearing, the simplicity of their question. Misery sees something of herself in the strange saint, cursed but naïve, thrown into a situation they didn’t quite expect. Why shouldn’t she answer? Like a benevolent parent she says, “You’ll find it’s different for everyone. In my case I’ve never cared for gender. Whatever it is, whatever it means. I was raised with she/her pronouns, and it’s what I’m used to, but they’re just words. So I chose they as my official pronoun. But I was raised with she, and honestly that’s what’s in my head. It’s not like anything about me changed. And those close to me use she. My family. My comrades. But I insist on they in official terms and in the records, because that’s important. I’m nixen, and I want that visibly, tangibly recorded. Does that make sense?”

“Oh.” Ghost presses their palms together, fingers to their pale lips. Misery’s infodump seems to be having a profound impact. “In that case, may I use she for you?”