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It had lit a spark deep within me, a need for justice, that I was struggling to ignore.
It’s never the enemy who attacks outright who will strike your killing blow, he’d taught me. It’s the one who hides in the shadows and waits. The one who strikes when you’ve finally looked away. Those are the true predators to fear.
But I was made of swinging fists and rash words, my edges too jagged and my temper too hot. Nothing about me was delicate.
He shook his head and mouthed go home, then began to turn away. “Luther, you arrogant prick, come over here and talk to me!” In the crowd, a hundred eyes turned on me like a mouse that had just awoken a lion. Luther’s shoulders rose and fell abruptly in what I had no doubt was some kind of irritated sigh, but he finally stalked over to meet me.
“Well I left Mortal City with all the supplies I could carry, and then I was attacked on the trail by a group of jackasses who stole my bag. So, technically, I only came halfway here with no medicine or supplies.” He stopped. His eyes darkened as they unapologetically roamed my body. “Did they hurt you?” he growled.