Zechariah made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, picking it up and shaking it in his hands as though that would shake reality into a proper size.

He let go of the folder with one hand to protectively clutch the paper, realized what he was doing, and then laughed and shook his head.

“Oh, God. Have you ever had some collegiate buffoon take an unflattering photograph of you, speculate wildly on your private life to the entire literate public at large, and then have the nerve to get a solid fifth of it correct?”

Something was preventing him from handing the paper over. Maybe Crane knew who it was, after all. Did Crane truly want to look that man in the eye after finishing reading this drivel?

“It is better off unseen,” he insisted.

As if Zechariah was not about to read the entire piece of trash back to front the moment he was out of sight.