“What if I tear myself up today, then put myself back together tomorrow?” “If that’s what you need. Tomorrow, or whenever you’re ready. I promise I’ll try not to push you this time, if you promise that next time you’ll tell me when you think someone you loved was murdered.” “Kendall, if there’s a next time for that, I quit.” He didn’t know what he was threatening to quit, exactly. Not love. Not life. Civility, maybe? The little moral voice in the back of his head that told him not to track down every one of Vitals-Barron’s hunters and smash their heads open brick by brick?
