“I noticed you didn’t include Parisa in your calculations. Or me, for that matter,” Tristan said in his usual drawl, “though I’m willing to overlook that for the sake of argument.”
“Well,” Callum said, “a telepath is useful, of course, if your goal is to interfere with someone’s thoughts. But do you know how infrequently people actually think?” he prompted, raising his glass to his lips while Tristan, inescapably in agreement, offered the echo of a soundless laugh. “With very rare exceptions, emotions are far stronger. And, unlike thought, emotion can be easily manipulated. Thoughts, on the other hand, must be implanted or incepted or stolen, which means a telepath will always burn more energy than an empath when magic is being used.”
“So you think you are the more useful option, then?”
“I think I’m the better option,” Callum clarified. “But more importantly, I think that, at the end of the day, you understand me more than you care to admit.”
The statement rang with relative clarity. Callum had almost no doubt that whatever reasoning the others had to dislike him, Tristan would find his rationale more persuasive. Tristan’s cynicism, or his disillusionment, or whatever it was that left him so bitterly disenchanted with the world, was useful that way.
“My offer is this,” Callum said. “I am on your side.”
“And?”
“And nothing,” Callum said. “Surely you see this is a game of alliances? I am your ally.”
“So then I should be yours?”
At that precise moment, Libby looked up. She had already adopted a habit of skirting Callum’s attention （probably wise） and so managed to lock eyes with Tristan by accident before quickly looking away, returning to her conversation with Nico.
Tristan tensed; aware, probably, that he had just been caught in discussion with Callum, whom none of the others were in a rush to befriend.
“Parisa is not an ally,” Callum cautioned Tristan, who cleared his throat. “Neither is Rhodes. As for the others, Varona and Reina are pragmatists; they will side with whoever will take them the furthest.”
“Shouldn’t you do the same, and wait,” Tristan advised, “to see if I have any value before trying to recruit me?”
“You have value,” Callum said. “I hardly need assign it to you.”
Across the table, Nico exclaimed something unintelligible about gravitational waves and heat. Or perhaps time and temperature. Or perhaps it didn’t matter at all, not even remotely, because unless Nico wanted to be some sort of medeian physicist chained to a laboratory for the rest of his life, nothing would come of it. The purpose of the Society was to get in, get access, and then get out. Remaining here, as Dalton Ellery had done, was pointless. The best of them would seek to parlay the influence of the Society, not bind themselves to the annals it contained.
Callum was the sort of person readily built to go far, Society or no Society. Tristan was the same, though in a different way. Callum could smell it on him: the ambition, the hunger, the drive. It was on the others, too, but not nearly so strong, and certainly not so close to longing. Nico had a hidden agenda （it was tightly sealed, tasting of metal） and perhaps the others had their reasons, but only Tristan truly wanted it, with his whole being. It was salty, savory, like salivation itself.
The only person who was as starved and desperate as Tristan was Reina, and there was certainly no point trying to win her. Not yet. She’d take whichever side she needed to when the time arose.
Libby was so unthreatening as to be a non-factor. Thus, Callum did not factor her into his personal calculations. If he ever needed another black hole, he’d simply seek her out in whatever mundane government job she accepted after being eliminated from this group. True, there was an as-yet unidentified link between Libby and Tristan—perhaps as a result of their experience during the installation—but that would be a simple enough matter to resolve. Tristan quietly resented her, or resented her abilities, and that was an uncomplicated emotion to play with. Callum could twist it easily around his finger, turning it steadily to hate.
As for Parisa, she was a difficulty. Callum had understated her abilities to Tristan for obvious reasons, and that was only with regard to her technical specialty. She was a better medeian than Callum, who had never been a particularly devoted student, and she was immensely calculating. Fatally, even. She was the one enemy Callum didn’t want, but she had already drawn the line, so he’d have to knock her pieces off the board quickly.