Dare helped Roman pack Jeff's clothes and personal items that they would deliver to him in a few days. It was bittersweet. Dare found one of his own tee shirts in with Jeff's laundry, and then Roman showed him a poem that Jeff had written. "If he were being honest, he would have given this to me," Roman said. "Maybe on a Sunday when you weren't around." "I was usually around," Dare said. "He didn't want you to be unhappy." "Yeah?" Roman said. "That's not right. My happiness isn't any more important than anyone else's." "To Jeff, it is," Dare said. "Maybe being a slave stopped being a game." "It was never a game," Roman said, and his eyes were fierce. "You're wrong," Dare countered. "On some level, it was always a game. He could always call 'red'. That's the problem with the halo device, with traction in general. He can't call the whole thing off. He can't say, 'Stop this, I'll take the brush' – it's out of his control, for real." Roman looked pensive. "Still. Trust, truth, and transparency.
