“No.”
The word is soft but immediate.
“You will be safer.”
“I was not safer before I knew your name. I was alone in an alley with five gang members before you came.”
“You were attacked after I threatened them.”
“I was attacked because they attack people.”
I turn toward the window because looking at her is becoming difficult in ways I do not understand. Rain turns the glass silver. Beyond it, Halo’s lights shimmer in the wet dark, fragile and stubborn.
Behind me, Evie says, “Thank you.”
I close my eyes.
Do not thank me. Do not look at me kindly. Do not make this something good.
“I hurt them badly,” I say.
“Were they alive when they ran?”
“Yes.”
“Then you showed restraint.”
I laugh once, bitter and rough. “That was restraint.”
“I know.”
“No, you do not.”
“Then explain it to me.”
I turn back. She sits on the sofa with one hand pressed carefully to her ribs, bruised and shaken and still looking at me like I am worth understanding. That is the most dangerous thing in this room.
“I wanted them dead,” I say.
She does not flinch.
“I knew where to strike. How hard. Which bones would sever arteries if driven inward. Which angle would crush the throat. Which impact would stop the heart. I knew all of it while I fought them. I chose less. That does not make me gentle.”
“No,” she says. “It makes you responsible for your strength.”
The answer steals breath from me.
I have been called many things. Soldier. Brute. Killer. Survivor. Curse. Warborn. Monster. Responsible is not a word the galaxy has wasted on me in years.
A knock sounds below, sharp and hurried.
Evie exhales. “That’ll be Mira.”
“I will get the door.”
“Kauss?”
I pause near the stairs.
