“What happens if this guy finds himself in that situation, ready to make a call about you or share his thoughts, and he describes his horrible encounter with you on the train, how you intimidated him and said odious things?”

“I said nothing.”

“And he’s a teenager, he’s a guy, you’re a girl, he’ll think about this scene again, he might be bothered, and he’ll want to resolve that feeling. Maybe he lies and badmouths you online.”

Ashley looked like she was the very definition of unimpressed.

I shrugged.

“I hate the internet,” she said. “Despise it. When I become a villain, I’ll move out to a border world where the internet isn’t established and I’ll take over. I’ll rule as a queen, without any need to concern myself with teenagers who could lie about me without fear of reprisal.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said. It was my turn to shoot her a small smile.

“Yes, yes,” she said. She brought her head back, leaning it against the wall behind her. “I’ve been brought low, relying on sentiment over fact. How the tables have turned.”

“That wasn’t actually what I was thinking,” I said.

I didn’t get a chance to elaborate. The girl with freckles approached. She looked spooked, arms close to her body as she held a notebook, but the ‘spook’ was aimed more at me.

Too petite to be the person I’d worried I’d seen out of the corner of my eye, earlier. Years younger—fourteen, if I had to guess. Timid, yes, fidgety, that was similar, but in other ways, she held herself differently. This girl dressed different, sporty and confident.

“Hi,” I said.

“Are you—you’re Victoria Dallon.”

“I am.”

“I’m a fan. I’ve been a fan for years.”

“What’s your name?”

“Presley.”

“You know, Presley, I was just thinking about how I missed the days of living in Brockton Bay, when I’d get to make connections with people. I missed that, and you might have just made my day.”

Her smile was tentative at first and then solidified into something more confident.

“I lived in Brockton Bay for a year when I was nine. My family was going through stuff. That doesn’t really matter but it’s why I was there, and I saw this picture of you and I loved it. I didn’t even know you were a real person or what your name was until a month later. I got a poster of the same picture for my birthday.”

“Which poster?”

“Oh, it had a yellow background, and you were flying, and you had your arms out and behind you, like—”

She took a bit of a pose, chest pushed up and out, arms back with fists clenched near her butt. Well, one fist. She held the notebook, still.