“I just have a healthy respect for your anger and your right hook. Would you rather I pretend you’re some delicate flower?” Calladia had never been a delicate flower, and she never would be. She stared at him, recalculating their hostile encounters through this upside-down demon lens. He engaged in their arguments eagerly, which she’d considered a mark of dislike. Everything she gave, he dished right back. Had he actually been telling her he respected her and saw her as an equal in their sparring matches?
