Camera flashes went off every few seconds as a sea of reporters shouted rapid-fire questions, barely giving me time to answer. Luckily, they were all variations on the same softball theme and didn't require much thought: "How did you feel when you saved Mr. Byzantine's life?" "What went through your mind when you saved Mr. Byzantine's life?" "Were you scared when you saved Mr. Byzantine's life?" "How does it feel to be a hero for saving Mr. Byzantine's life?" After years of being interviewed by entertainment reporters spouting similar fluff, I've gotten great at letting my mouth run while my mind wanders. I did the same thing at the gold-plated podium, answering question after question with charming perfection as my thoughts drifted elsewhere. Other, more pressing questions concerned me. For example, what were the wraiths that had controlled M.B.? Why had they tried to kill Byzantine? For that matter, why had I saved him? Did it mean I could never bring myself to kill him?
