But she couldn’t make the flame come. That required rage, and she couldn’t even summon the faintest memory of anger. She couldn’t curse, or shout, or do any of the million things she’d imagined she might do if she had the chance to confront him like this. How many chances, asked Altan, are you going to throw away? At least one more, she thought, and ignored his jeering laughter. If she could remember how to hate Nezha, she would have killed him. But instead, she turned her back and let him make his retreat while she made hers.
