This time, Lambert speaks up. His voice is low, and thick with contempt, though he’s been listening this whole time.

“It doesn’t seem like you know much of anything at all,” he says, his gaze searching Ignatius, then lifting to Syrlya and Rita. He’s had some experience with Rita’s book, if purely functional. The transfer of information goes both ways.

“But that’s why it’s so easy for you to be sure, isn’t it? You say you know nothing but the life you’ve been given — fine. We’ll show you.” He holds a hand out to Rita. “Give me a page.”