Ashley took the seat, pulling it down from the side of the train and then sitting on it, crossing one knee over the other and placing her hands on top. Posed, in a very deliberate, conscious way. Even the angle of her head.

I looked past her to the freckled observer, who again looked away. Was it my frame of mind, sitting with Ashley, that made it so the wretch wasn’t as close to the surface, the look not nearly as bothersome?

Or was I overthinking it? Was it that I’d seen the look enough times and seen her reaction enough times that it didn’t feel so heavy, pressing, or potentially hostile? Less about me and more about her, now.

“He’s sensible,” Ashley said. “He’ll go far.”

She might have thought I was looking at the boy who’d run.

“Did you take off your sunglasses just to intimidate him into giving up his seat?” I asked.

She put her sunglasses back into place and gave me a small smile.

“You shouldn’t,” I said.

“Why not? If there was a chance I’d see him again, maybe I shouldn’t, but I won’t. The city is too big.”

“The little things ripple out. If you make a positive or negative impression, people mention them to others, those people mention them or carry them forward. You’re not just interacting with him. You’re interacting with everyone he’s potentially going to interact with in the future. To lesser degrees, sure, but I absolutely think it matters.”

“What’s he going to say? I didn’t do anything, and he willingly gave up his seat. Is he going to tell all of his friends and family that he saw a lady with scary eyes and he ran away like a stray with its tail between its legs?”

“I think it matters,” I said.

“I wanted to learn from you all. I’ll have to take that sentiment and think on it—”

“Good,” I said.

“—because you’ve only given me sentiment. Not one good argument yet.”

I turned my head her way, frowning. She smiled a little more.

“Let’s say you entered the scene, you’ve gathered all your info, you have a nice costume, you’ve trained, you’re badass,” I said.

“Mm,” she made a sound.

“You have your first big job. You make a splash, there’s some media attention, video, something like that. It appears on TV briefly, but people talk online. They’re the ones who create your online profile and fill in your info, they apply the labels, describe things, set the tone. What if the guy you scared off ends up being one of them, and he ends up sitting at his keyboard, remembering you as he decides what to write?”

“I didn’t do a thing to him.”

“But did he leave with a good impression of you?”

She shrugged.