“Is that a threat, Prefect?” Madame asks.
I’d have you work another position, dear, but I’m afraid you’d only make us money lying facedown.” The worst part isn’t that I’m used to it. People always act like they’re the first one to call you ugly, when you’ve been navigating a world that won’t let you forget. The worst part is that, even so, it rips at the scab every time. Part of me still chokes up. Will always choke up. Will flash through every single one of those searing reminders in a heartbeat. Will hear Irmgard cooing, Now your back is as ugly as your front.
...
Emeric swiftly plants his hands on the desk, blocking Madame’s view of me. I can’t see the look on his face, but I can hear the sudden switchblade edge in his voice, see the flicker of uncertainty in Madame. “I promise you,” he says, with his deadly kind of calm, “for the rest of your life, you will look back on this moment and know that was the worst mistake you’ll ever make.”
...
“Is that a threat, Prefect?” Madame asks.
...
Emeric doesn’t move. “I don’t threaten the inevitable.”
...
“I have a code of conduct,” he says mildly. “So the worst mistake of your life wasn’t upsetting me. It was starting a fight with her.”
