"So I've been told," I say. All the more reason to keep my secret identity just that: secret. I can't be sure when or where everyone is from. If they even know my name's been plastered across the tabloids in connection to Daredevil. Not that it matters; lying is no longer a thing of consequence, I do it so often. And though I hate myself for the compromises I've been forced to make, I understand, too, that they were necessary (even if no one else agrees). I listen for a moment to make sure we are, in fact, alone, before adding, "I'm surprised you don't have company."