[If she says so, he can only believe it. Yingying has lived through a long and harsh existence, many years of which must have been lost to grief. He would hear her tales sometime, to embrace understanding and connection.]

At one point, that might have been the truth.

[Closing his eyes, he folds his arms across his chest. Survival drove them from their homes. They—he and his compatriots—longed to live and love as opposed to struggle and wither. So they fled, and . . . ]

I was once part of an organization called the League of Nine, which unwittingly broke a core tenet of the district in which we gathered. After it exploded in a colorless fire, time ceased to move for me . . . and I was taken aside by a dear compatriot, who provided food, shelter, and resources to continue my research.

[This much, he feels that he can safely share. In the end, he was nothing more than a stepping stone for the people who sought to cage him. So long as he keeps the detail of what he was told to do to himself, he can expound on what he's already alluded to via his speech at the previous ceremony.]

I would take the blue supplements he brought me, not knowing that they were sedatives, while the plaything I had made was appropriated for another purpose. It was only after I followed the words of my left-handed self, who faithfully kept me company, that I saw what was happening and departed.

[His eyes open, and he searches again for Yingying's face.]

Before then, I cared not whom they threatened. And that . . . is the true story of what transpired between me and my last remaining compatriot.