Fiona shot me a glance. “He’s a vandal, Leif, not a fighter.”
“I’m not a killer, if that’s what you mean,” he retorted, then turned away and watched the fire, hands on his hips. “Nor will I let any of us be. I mean, if I’ve said it once I’ll say it again: this isn’t about bloodshed. It’s not even about rebellion. It’s more about ...” He paused—as though saying anything else could only lead to regret.
“I thought it was about nothing,” said Fiona, softly. “That that was its beauty—it was wildness for the sake of wildness. Passion for the sake of passion. Isn’t that what you said?” She laughed with surprising bitterness. “Different context, I guess.”
“It was about filling the nothing,” he said, still facing away. “And letting go. Until ... But then—you haven’t had to think about any of tha
