“You promised me you wouldn’t use what I taught you against a maji,” I say. “I know, but I didn’t have a choice—” “You always have a choice,” I snap. “You just chose wrong.” I shake my head, putting the canister of pigment down. “You chose to win at any cost. Like your father. Like Inan.” Anger sizzles in the air between us. It takes all my effort not to walk away. I try to block out the sight of her white streak, the reminder of her people and all the ways they continue to hurt those like me.
