I arm myself carefully, selecting holsters that I usually find too cumbersome but that hold more weapons. I load myself down with rends and blades, and I am even able to snatch up two sets of throwing knives. I run my fingertips over the word Pulmaire etched in the side of the metal, feeling the way the edges of the grooves scratch against my skin.
Angelica looks at my stack. “Planning to go to war?” she asks with a half laugh.
I just look at her until she shrugs and turns away. Her word catches me. War.
No. I just want to be free.