Page 213 of Chameleon Killer

This time because she needed it. Not because I wanted to force the answer. “So, I told him about fifth grade.”

She told me the story. A girl accused of cheating. A teacher unwilling to admit she'd been wrong. A narrative that survived even after the facts underneath it collapsed.

I listened.

Somewhere in the telling, I understood why Simon had asked. Not because he wanted biographical trivia.

Mallory finished. Then looked at me. “He said the facts hadn't changed. Only my understanding of the narrative had.”

I folded my arms. “He's not wrong.”

“No.”

“You hate that.” It might have been an observation, but I was right there with her. I hated how much this man wanted to know her and seemed intent on pulling her apart to know her.

“Yes.”

I almost smiled. “What else?”

She told me. Not everything at once. Pieces.

How he'd challenged the name Auditor. How he'd insisted she had named a pattern rather than a person. How she'd negotiated reciprocity. How she'd demanded something to call him.

Simon.

“Why that name?”

“He said Simon was the first person who taught him that being correct and being believed were unrelated conditions.”

I turned that admission over in my head. “That sounds personal.”

“I thought so.”

“Think it’s true?”

“I have no idea.” She lifted her shoulders. “It might be. It might be total bullshit. At this point, I lean toward it’s probably not true.”

“Good.”

Her eyebrows rose. “What?”

It was a relief to me and I had to admit it. “You're still questioning him.”

“I question everyone.”

“I know.”

A small smile. Then it faded. “He denied killing Colin.”

My whole body went cold. “Clearly?”

“Yes.”

“No games?” Everything else seemed to be word play and sportslike.

“Not on that.”

“What about Guy?”