Bitter wanted to speak up, but she knew she had no right to, not in this space, not even though she’d painted Vengeance into existence, called it into being, and set off this whole cascade. Assata lived in a different world, one of blood and death and unlikely hope, and that was the world the angels had come for. Bitter was just the gate, someone on the border. Who was she to tell them not to seek justice for everyone who had been lost, especially when this looked like the only way justice was ever going to be served? It felt heavy, inevitable, like an avalanche with an old grudge. None of
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