“I don’t know how to apologise to you, Emma. What penance do I pay for catching you in my storm?” I wasn’t prepared for such a question. I opened my mouth, closed it again, trying to discern the root of a growing frustration. Pierce took my pause to mean the penance was more than he could pay. “I’d understand,” he said, carefully, “if it is too much for you. If you wish to end—” “Niall Pierce,” I said, “you are so ready for others to throw you away.” I’d meant to be gentle but could not find a way. I was not waving a flag of truce. I was drawing a weapon. But it was for Pierce, not against
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