Sinclair purses his lips. It’s strange talking with Wolfgang sometimes; they’re not a mutant but they have superhuman abilities, so their place in both the District and Sinclair’s mental layout of society is questionable. At first Sinclair wasn’t sure he approved of the service they were offering—he didn’t know who this person was or what kind of idea would inspire someone to buy a shop in this neighborhood and start offering to make his people seem more ‘human.’ It could have been something terrible. He still can’t stop himself from wondering how far Wolfgang will go, or—conversely—how desperate their presence will make everyone around them if they’re unable or refuse to find a real ‘cure.’
“The ones who don’t live here usually feel more pressure to look and act normal. Most of them only come for one thing, and they hate being here. They don’t know how to behave.” He raises an eyebrow again. “Your boyfriend was like that for years, you know. He’d show up once every few months, get whatever he came for and get out. Wouldn’t talk to anyone. For a while we weren’t even sure he was one of us.”