When I finally lifted my face from my hands, all my panic had drained away, replaced with purpose. It burned, a good burn, like the useless parts of me, the frightened and pathetic parts, were withering away to ash and leaving only the undamaged core of me behind.
He hadn't sat back down again, still poised to move— which kept me wary. But I ignored that. because even if I chose to care, it wouldn't do anything to help now.
"Hypothetically," I said, craning my neck to look up at his impassive face, "if you got out. Out of the chain and the collar, out of this cell—"
"I won't," he growled.
"Hypothetically! Christ, bear with me a second." He frowned at me but kept his mouth shut. "Thank you. If you got out. What would you do?"
His instant answer made my heart leap. "Rip them to shreds," he said. "Limb from limb. All of them. Burn this fucking place to the ground."
