Roaki flinched again. Well, Quinn wasn’t [i]crying[/i] anymore at least, but, was this better? Anger, grief, even merciful vengeance, she had tasted all of them. But gratitude? A wholly alien dish, whose flavor she didn’t know if she wanted to swallow, or spit back out like the poison she figured it was. 

The list of things you did to your enemies was short and simple: you killed them. The list of things you did [i]not[/i] do was much longer, and complex—a frustration she had expertly avoided by following the [i]Do[/i] list. You didn’t spare them, unless you meant to torture them. You didn’t talk with them, unless you meant to insult them. You didn’t eat with them, unless it was their last meal or you meant to poison them. And you most certainly didn’t [i]thank[/i] them, unless…

Well, she couldn’t even think of a reason. 

Quinn had to be careful. If she stopped treating Roaki like an enemy, she’d lose sight of the fact that they were supposed to kill each other. 

“[color=ec008c]Whatever,[/color]” she said with a click of her tongue. “[color=ec008c]Better than crying all over my sheets, I guess. Just don’t forget about it—you need to act while you’re still mad. Otherwise you’ll get yourself all worked up, then bitch out at the last second. And that [i]blows[/i].[/color]”

Eventually Dahlia emerged from her room, calmed but exasperated. “[color=skyblue]I’m cooking tonight,[/color]” she called. “[color=skyblue]Gonna try to get the smell of my laundry out of the kitchen. What’re you feeling like?[/color]”

“[color=ec008c]Meat![/color]” Roaki shouted. 

“[color=skyblue]There is no world where that question was ever directed at you,[/color]” Dahlia said. “[color=skyblue]Quinn? What’s your stomach rumblin’ for?[/color]”