“Do not,” Nighthand said, and his voice, now, was softer than it had been, “let Claude Argen decide how you feel about the world. Fight him, yes. But keep the fight outside your body, not inside it. I can see you vibrating with rage from halfway across a room, girl. Do not let men who are not fit to touch the corner of your shoe decide how you feel about being alive. That way lies misery and broken bones.” He hauled Anya up, lifting her three feet off the ground.
