“I would never think so little of you,” I said honestly.
“Then what is it?”
Her knuckles were white where her hands folded over the strap of her purse, shaking with a terrible need that I understood too well to trust it.
“I think you feel too much,” I said.
“For Ben?”
“For everything.”
The glare she gave me didn’t help. She looked exactly how I’d felt eight years ago. I’d made a lot of mistakes thanks to feeling like that, mistakes that no amount of advice or supervision could have kept me from. I’d survived them through sheer luck.
“A little anger is good,” I explained. “A little fear, a little pride in your associates and your species, that’s necessary to keep you going, but you’ve got too much. It goes too deep. The Splinters hurt you too badly, and you’re not going to be able t
