"It was not a requirement," he says, dry with sarcasm, "But they did try."

He hesitates, over the answer to the rest. Could he truly say they were his friends? He would have liked to think of them as such, many of them. Their time together had been genuine, full of small moments of connection, and joy. Times when he had forgotten himself, and simply existed amongst them.

"I made myself comfortable among them, and indulged in forgetful days, living with a minimum of pretense: we shared a journey, and I was called friend by many. But I do not believe that they would do so now; in not informing them of my intentions or my true nature, I have committed too great a betrayal, and can no longer be trusted. But yes, for a time... I did."

And then, inevitably, he had lost them all. So it goes.