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“He threatened you.”

“Yes, and now you’ve threatened my bank account!”

“This is not amusing.”

“No, it isn’t!”

She sets the damaged telephone on the counter.

“You’re supposed to be helping me feel safe, not destroying my belongings!”

My jaw tightens.

“Then tell me who he is.”

“No!”

“Why do you insist on protecting him?”

“I’m not protecting him!”

“Then give me his name!”

The kitchen lights flare crimson.

Wren takes a step backward.

I see it.

The movement.

The instinctive retreat.

And still, some terrible part of me wants to finish the argument.

I have faced Nemesis herself. I have shattered armies and brought cruel kings to their knees.

Yet this mortal woman refuses to tell me the name of a man who deserves my wrath.

“Every moment you refuse justice,” I say, “you allow him to believe he may continue.”

Her expression changes.

“Justice?”

“Yes.”

“You think killing him will make everything better?”

“I did not say I would kill him.”

“You didn’t have to!”

I fall silent.

She folds her arms tightly across her chest.

“You want to know why I won’t tell you his name?”