A day passed in a blur of neon signs and nervous anticipation. Ravenor barely spoke, except to point out fleeting moments where strangers were swayed by body language or a well-timed nod. I tried to ignore the sinking feeling that I was turning into a manipulative prick. But what choice do I have? My debts wouldn't vanish on their own.
By mid-afternoon, I stood outside my old apartment building, the chipped paint on the door matching the scuffed hope in my chest. I hadn't slept in my own place for days, partly because I was avoiding rent collectors, partly because Ravenor insisted on "hands-on lessons." Now I had to face the landlord—Mr. Heywood—before he changed the locks.
Ravenor lingered a few steps behind me, posture relaxed, face unreadable. "Remember your basics," he murmured, lighting a cheap cigarette. "He's probably pissed off. Stick to Mirroring if he gets agitated. A dash of Positive Reinforcement won't hurt, either."
I swallowed, nerves jangling. "He's threatening to kick me out. That's more than 'pissed.' It's borderline eviction."
"Then you'd better steer him away from that," Ravenor said coolly. He gestured for me to move. "Go on—show me you've learned something."
The hallway leading to Heywood's office reeked of stale coffee and old carpet. I could already hear him barking into his phone, voice echoing against the thin walls. A flicker of dread coiled in my stomach. Fuck, Sorin, don't choke now.
I rapped on the doorframe. "Mr. Heywood? It's Sorin."
He paused his phone conversation, glaring at me over wire-rimmed glasses. "You. Hang on, let me call you back," he snapped into the receiver, then slammed it down. "I was just about to head to your unit and start the eviction process."
My throat felt dry as sand. "I—I know I'm behind, sir. But can we talk?"
His eyes narrowed. "Talk? Unless you have this month's rent plus late fees, I'm not interested."
Breathe, I told myself. Mirroring if he shifts posture. Right now, he was half-standing behind his desk, one hand braced on the surface. I inched a step forward, resting my own hand on the desk edge—mimicking his stance in a subtle echo.
He glowered. "What's that supposed to be?"
I forced a respectful tone. "I'm just… I get how frustrating it is for you. You've been patient. It's only fair I try to make this right."
He grimaced. "Damn straight. I've given you more leeway than usual."
Positive Reinforcement. "I appreciate that, truly. Most landlords would've kicked me out weeks ago. You're doing the decent thing by giving me a chance."
His posture relaxed—just a fraction—like he wasn't expecting gratitude. "Decent thing, my ass. I run a business, not a charity."
"Of course," I said quickly, nodding. "But still, I'm thankful you showed me some patience. Especially with the economy being crap and all."
His jaw unclenched slightly. "Hmph."
I tried not to let relief show on my face. "Look, I'm not asking for a free ride. I just need a bit more time. A week, maybe two. I'm this close to landing a better-paying job." Total lie, but hopefully he buys it. "If you let me stay, I promise I'll square things up soon."
He folded his arms. "And what if you don't? I've got three potential renters lined up for that unit."
Scarcity.* The building might actually have vacant rooms, or maybe not, but I could also invert it. "I get that other folks want the space. You have options," I said, forcing a calm. "But if you kick me out, it's an immediate turnaround cost—cleaning, repairs, marketing. That's time and money you might lose."
He studied me, suspicious. "You think you know my finances, Vex?"
I shook my head quickly, keeping my voice respectful. "No, sir, but I've heard from other tenants how tough it is to find reliable renters. I know I'm behind, but once I catch up, I'll keep paying on time. You won't have to worry about turnover."
He drummed his fingers on the desk. "That's easy to say. Hard to prove."
I softened my posture, mirroring his slight lean forward. "I get it. I haven't exactly been your ideal tenant, but at least you know me. Someone new could be a total deadbeat or trash the place. I really want to fix my situation—stay loyal to this building."
He let out a rough exhale, glaring at a smudge on the desk. "I'm sick of hearing excuses, Vex. But fine. One more week. If you don't show me actual money by then, you're out. Got it?"
A surge of relief nearly buckled my knees. "Thank you. Seriously. I promise I won't let you down."
He huffed, waving a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah. Just get out of here before I change my mind."
I backed away, giving him a small nod of gratitude, then hurried into the hall. My heart hammered as I reached the corridor and saw Ravenor leaning against the peeling wallpaper.
"Well," Ravenor drawled, flicking ash from his cigarette. "You got a week. Not a bad extension."
I let out a shaky laugh. "Holy shit, that actually worked. I thought he'd throw me out on my ass."
Ravenor shrugged. "You mirrored his stance, gave him props for being patient, and tossed in a hint that new tenants might cost him more trouble. That's Positive Reinforcement plus a bit of Social Proof—'other tenants say it's hard to find good renters'—and mild Scarcity—implying he might lose time and money. Tier 1 stuff, used well."
I ran a hand over my face, adrenaline buzzing. "I can't believe I sounded so… smooth. Normally, I'd just beg or stammer."
He arched an eyebrow. "It's what happens when you act with intention instead of desperation."
We walked outside, the late-afternoon sun cutting through the haze. A group of teens argued near the stoop, but we slipped past them unnoticed. I caught myself feeling a twisted sense of pride. I'd just navigated a potential eviction without paying a dime, all by massaging Heywood's ego and fears.
"Next time," I said, "I might actually pay him. But at least I'm not homeless right now."
Ravenor let out a soft chuckle. "Exactly. You see how a few small tweaks can change an outcome? A stiff landlord is no different from that corner-store clerk or the thug with a bat. They all have buttons waiting to be pressed."
My stomach fluttered, half-excited, half-uneasy. "Guess so."
He glanced around the street, his gaze drifting over passing cars and neon signs. "Still, this is entry-level. Don't get cocky. People with real backbone won't cave so easily. You'll need stronger tactics eventually."
I swallowed, remembering how quickly I'd embraced these so-called harmless manipulations. "Let's…not talk about bigger stuff yet. I'm still getting used to these."
A mild smile ghosted across Ravenor's face. "Suit yourself. Just know that survival in this city might demand more than Tier 1."
A breeze stirred the trash littering the curb, dust swirling around our feet. I closed my eyes for a second, letting the tension ease from my shoulders. One more week. That's all I bought. And I still owe a shit-ton of money.
But at least I wasn't tossed out on the street. I glanced at Ravenor, who caught my eye with a knowing smirk. Yeah, I can see how this can get addictive. Even a taste of control felt like a shot of adrenaline in my veins.
"All right," I muttered, exhaling. "What now?"
He took a final drag of his cigarette, then flicked it aside. "Now we see if your next target is as pliable. Keep your mind open, Sorin. There's always someone else to persuade."
His words sent a chill down my spine, but I nodded, matching his step as we headed deeper into the city. My mind whirled with possibilities. If Tier 1 manipulations could stall an eviction, what else could they do?
And maybe, beneath that rush, a quiet alarm bell rang: How far am I willing to go?