[Cain rolls his eyes for emphasis. Across a wooden bridge on the path, he shoves Cy's shoulder to push him off, into the grass. It's almost companionable, or physical for the sake of something physical—a language he communicates better than words.]

In your dreams. I'm not that easy. [Just selective.] Hold on, you said you don't fight? Why not? 'Cause with what you can do with magic, even just the trans-whatever, that's a huge waste.

[He can dream up too many scenarios where that sort of power would have changed his life. Uprooted everything, gave back control where it was taken away. No one would've been able to touch him. A silly fantasy of superpowers that little boys have, not grown men; he'd stopped a long time ago.]