“Enough.” There’s an unusual tension in his voice. “You don’t have to tell me, but don’t lie to my face.” I shove down a sudden discomfort, refusing to let a misplaced sense of guilt make me waver. “What do you mean?” “You’ve read books that most of the Thirds wouldn’t bother to try. Speak dead languages. Duel using styles I’ve never even heard of before.” He glares at me, never once breaking eye contact. “You’re about as middle-class Aquirian as I am.”
