You crouch down and take Trust's hand. "I think I might like you too, Rachael," you tell her. "At the very least, I understand. I know about fear."
You can see the relief in her eyes.
"I can't go with you," you tell her. "But I'll be back."
The surprise of your statement is enough for you to yank, slamming Rachael's face into the dock and dropping her into the water instead of standing on the surface.
"STAY IN YOUR SHELTERS!" you call, turning and slinging your pack from around your shoulders.
"LA CROIX!" Rachael yells, indignantly. "WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO TELL THE SHIP? HUH?"
"TELL HER THAT IF SHE TOUCHES THESE PEOPLE OR THIS CITY, I WILL SHACKLE HER MISERABLE LITTLE SOUL TO A BALEFIRE CANDLE AND USE IT TO LIGHT MY CIGARETTES!" you scream back. You get out the book you keep in your bag and start reading, frantically, from it.
You step into the Atheneum at full tilt and slam into the protective wards around the bookshelves. You stagger, totter, and hit the ground hard.
Someone's yelling.
"TellBrigette," you mutter, "t'send someone to th'Jaw. Emily..."
It's been a long day. You deserve some rest.
* * * * *
You are Nathan Bookchild, and fucking what.
"A truly innocent soul?" you repeat as a question, because what the fuck else do you say to that.
Flitter nods. "A soul that never developed a personality. A...a person /in potentia/, basically. They happen sometimes, very rarely. Writings on conversations with Fangs Choir angels and fallen suggest that it's a normal and expected result of whatever puts mortals in their bodies."
"...Come again?" you ask.
"You /are/ a soul. You /have/ a body," Flitter says, patiently. "Jack needs that soul. He needs it really badly."
"Why?" you ask. The old halflings are glaring between you and Flitter, but you can tell the conversation has their interest.
The pixie squirms and looks away. "...He owes someone, big time. And it's his ticket out."
> What do you say?