"Not by choice," Simon laughs weakly. "'s my job, yeah? Jobs, actually. Can't afford a flat in London without at least two."

Oh, he knows all about trying to be normal. Even when he's up to his eyeballs in supernatural shit--his previous career at Starbucks is now a long-distant memory, leaving him fully reliant on Sylvia Redbright and her Night Council for income--he still desperately clings to the illusion that he's just a normal student who has to work nights to afford a flat near UCL.

He whistles faintly when she admits she's either just been fired from her job or left it willingly. The way she looks when she talks about it, he's willing to bet the former.

"I'm a bit jealous."