Are you going to play music for me?” “No. You wouldn’t appreciate it.” “Then why are you here?” “I like visiting people in prison. I can say whatever I want to them, and they can’t do anything about it.” He looked up at Kaladin, then rested his hands on his instrument, smiling. “I’ve come for a story.” “What story?” “The one you’re going to tell me.” “Bah,” Kaladin said, lying back down on his bench.