I spent the next morning pacing a cramped walkway outside a dingy café, replaying the landlord scene in my head. A single week's reprieve—that was the most I'd managed. Enough to feel some relief, but not enough to banish the looming threat of my debts.
Ravenor stood a few steps away, texting on a battered phone. He'd barely spoken since we left Mr. Heywood's office. Maybe he was giving me space to process. Or maybe he just found me boring. Either way, the silence wore on my nerves.
I stared at the café window. Dull neon lights flickered, advertising "24/7 Coffee" in pink and blue, half the letters buzzing like a dying insect. My reflection looked as haunted as ever—shadows under my eyes, jaw tight with stress. At least I'm not homeless yet, I reminded myself.
The door swung open, and a familiar figure nearly tripped over the threshold: Jonah, an old friend from one of my part-time jobs. He juggled a to-go coffee and a half-eaten muffin, stopping short when he saw me.
"Sorin?" he exclaimed, nearly dropping his breakfast. "Dude, I haven't seen you in ages."
My stomach twisted. Shit. Jonah was the sort of friend who'd pick up on changes quickly. I forced a shaky smile. "Hey, man. I've been… busy."
He gave me a once-over, brow furrowed. "You look like you've been through the wringer. Everything okay?"
I glanced at Ravenor, who'd paused his texting to watch us. His gaze told me handle it. For a moment, I considered brushing Jonah off. But a pang of nostalgia hit—I used to trust this guy. We'd once split cheap meals, complaining about shitty bosses.
"Sort of," I said at last. "I, uh… owed some serious cash. Still do. Been trying to get out from under it."
Jonah frowned deeper. "Are you behind on rent? Why didn't you call me? I could've helped or something."
I opened my mouth, unsure what to say. My throat constricted. Helped me how? Gave me money? No, that's not what Ravenor taught. But wasn't that the normal human approach? Fuck, I'm losing track of normal.
Before I could respond, Jonah's gaze shifted to Ravenor. "Who's this?" he asked warily.
Ravenor stepped forward with a measured, disarming smile. "Ravenor. I've been…showing Sorin some ways to handle his problems." He turned to me with a subtle nod, as if reminding me to keep calm.
Jonah's eyes flicked between us. "Ways? What does that mean?"
I forced a grin, gesturing with my hands. "Just… tips on negotiation and stuff, I guess." My voice came out stilted. "He's helping me out so I don't get evicted."
Jonah's expression didn't ease. He must've sensed the awkward tension. "You sure you're okay, man? You seem… different."
I swallowed. "I'm good, just stressed." A faint idea formed—maybe try to use a mild Tier 1 approach to reassure him. That's what Ravenor would suggest, right?
I mirrored Jonah's slight forward lean, nodding in empathy. "Look, I appreciate the concern. Really. You're always the guy who looks out for me." Positive reinforcement—reminding him he's the caring friend. "But I'm handling it now. Just trust me a little longer."
Jonah took a slow sip of coffee, frown lingering. "I do trust you, Sorin, but you've been off the grid for weeks. Now you show up with…some random dude, talking about 'ways to handle problems'? You can tell me if you're in trouble."
A pang of guilt jabbed me. He's just worried. But a louder instinct reminded me: keep him at bay. "I'm not in trouble, exactly. I just had to learn a few new…skills." I forced a half-laugh. "And hey, I landed an extension with my landlord, so that's something."
Jonah's skepticism didn't vanish. He started to say something else, then shook his head. "Alright, if you say so. But if you need real help—"
"Sorin," Ravenor interrupted softly, glancing at me. "We have that thing soon, remember?"
Smooth. He was giving me an out. I exhaled. "Right, that thing. Sorry, Jonah, I've gotta run. But seriously, thanks for worrying about me. I'm not going off the deep end."
Jonah opened his mouth, then shut it, looking unconvinced. "Okay. Just… call me sometime. Don't vanish again."
I gave a vague nod and stepped aside, letting him head down the street. My heart pounded. Jesus, I nearly stumbled into a heartfelt confession. If I'd told Jonah I was pulling cheap mind tricks to stay afloat, he might've tried to talk me out of it—or marched me to therapy. But how would that solve my debt?
Ravenor watched Jonah vanish around the corner, then turned to me. "Seems you have at least one friend who cares about you." There was no mockery in his tone, just an observation.
I rubbed the back of my neck. "Yeah, well… guess I'm not used to pushing friends away like that."
"Then don't," Ravenor said simply. "Unless you think he'll interfere."
A wave of discomfort rolled through me. Would Jonah's moral compass come crashing down on me if he knew the truth? "He might try to 'save' me or something."
Ravenor shrugged. "If he hinders our progress, you handle it. If not, no harm done." Then he gestured toward the café door. "We're here anyway. Might as well practice inside."
I blinked at the flickering neon sign. "Practice what?"
He shot me a small smirk. "You still owe me a demonstration of Social Proof or Scarcity in a trickier setting. Let's say you persuade the barista to give you a discount or an extra pastry for free. See if you can nudge her."
My gut twisted. "It's just a coffee shop. How do I—"
"Figure it out," Ravenor said calmly. "No advanced moves. Tier 1 only."
My nerves returned, but part of me thrummed with that now-familiar excitement. I guess every scenario is a test. Clenching my jaw, I headed inside, Ravenor trailing a few steps behind. The café was cramped, half the tables occupied by college-age kids typing away on laptops. A bored barista with dyed-blue hair stood behind the counter, checking her phone.
Approaching, I forced a polite smile. "Hey," I said. "Think I could get a medium coffee, maybe a muffin?"
She put down her phone, eyeing me wearily. "Sure. Five bucks total."
I glanced at the display case—muffins looked picked over. "Wow, these go fast, huh? I saw a few people grabbing them earlier. Did you happen to have any left in the back?"
Scarcity—suggest the muffins are super popular. Maybe that's enough to start. She sighed. "Nope, what's there is what we got."
"Darn." I rested my hand on the counter, mirroring her posture as she leaned forward. "Any chance of, like… a small discount if I grab that last kind-of stale muffin? It's near the end of the day anyway."
She snorted. "A discount? Management usually doesn't allow it."
Social Proof—I tried to think fast. "I was here last week and the barista on duty let me have an old pastry half-off so they wouldn't waste it." Half-lie, half-truth. "I figured it might be standard practice."
Her brow creased. "Standard? Not exactly, but…" She glanced at the muffin, then at me. "Fine. I guess I can ring it up for, like, half-off. That's two bucks total. Coffee's three."
I hid a flicker of triumph. "Really appreciate that. You're a lifesaver. I hate seeing good food tossed."
She tapped the register. "Don't tell my boss, okay?"
"Of course not," I said warmly—Positive Reinforcement. "You're awesome for doing that. Thanks."
Her posture eased, and she even managed a ghost of a smile. "Two bucks. Here's your coffee. I'll wrap the muffin."
I paid, adrenaline buzzing, then stepped aside for her to bag the pastry. Ravenor sidled over, voice low. "You combined mild Scarcity—implying others grabbed the muffins—and a hint of Social Proof with that made-up barista story. Nice synergy."
My heart pounded with a mix of pride and guilt. "I guess it's working."
He gave me a curt nod. "You see? Another small victory."
When we left, coffee in hand, I noticed a swirl of conflicting emotions. Am I just ripping people off left and right? Or is this normal bargaining? Then I thought of Jonah's worried face, the landlord's sneer, and the thug's battered baseball bat. Better to be in control than beaten down.
Outside, the sky was turning a sickly shade of dusk. Ravenor glanced at the horizon, then at me. "I'll head off for the night. Keep practicing. Tomorrow, we might tackle something bigger."
I swallowed, nodding. "Alright. Thanks, I guess."
He cracked a faint smile. "You don't need to thank me. Just don't squander what I'm giving you, Sorin."
With that, he slipped into the crowd, vanishing like a shadow among neon lights and tired pedestrians. I clutched my discounted muffin, mind reeling. No matter how uneasy I felt, these small manipulations were working. They got me a tiny break on rent, a cheaper pastry, an easier path through everyday struggles.
I found myself stepping away from the café, drawn back toward my rundown apartment. Another day of practicing Tier 1 tricks was done, and I couldn't deny the sense of twisted satisfaction humming in my chest. Is this who I am now—just conning people for petty gains? A pang of conscience tried to surface, but I shoved it aside.
Jonah's words floated through my head: You sure you're okay, man? You seem different. Maybe I was different. But as long as I kept a roof over my head, maybe that wasn't so bad.
I walked on, letting the city's harsh glow swallow me. Somewhere along the way, I took a bite of the muffin—dry and stale, but it was mine for half-price. A bargain, right?
For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe. And that, ironically, scared me more than anything else.