The man looks over his clipboard. "Solid enough background. He might be worth it."
"Let's see if that's true," the woman says.
She pulls three pieces of blank paper, the kind that students use when working with new patterns, from her purse. She takes a fountain pen and with quick, efficient strokes, sketches a complex pattern on each. "Which one of these is Thomas's pattern for water creation?"
Two things come to mind: One, the woman's living dangerously, memorizing patterns. Patterns alter a practitioner's brain. Alter it too much, and you can royally screw up your mind and your body. You're supposed to forget them as soon as you've used them.
Two, she's not living that dangerously. None of the patterns are functional. You can tell, thanks to your synesthesia.
Next
You were nine before you discovered other people didn't see colors when they looked at letters and numbers. Though that description isn't exactly right: you don't see the colors so much as experience them.
As soon as your parents taught you to recognize patterns, your synesthesia kicked in. Your brain began associating colors with patterns, too. You don't have to have seen the pattern before, either. Any completed pattern triggers it.
That's how you know none of the three patterns actually work. However, the middle one is almost complete. It's close enough to a functional pattern that a faint haze of color hovers over it. You know how to complete it.
Not that you want to talk about your synesthesia.