The problem with anger was that most people assumed it burned hot, like something that demanded raised voices, slammed doors, and dramatic exits. Mine had burned that way for a little while that morning, sharp enough to carry me away from Callahan Industries before Timothy could say anything else, but by the time I arrived at The Kitty Kat that evening, it had changed into something quieter and far more stubborn. It sat beneath my ribs like a bruise, tender every time my thoughts brushed against it. I had spent the entire day trying to convince myself I was angry because Gabriel Callahan had offered me a job I did not ask for, but no matter how many times I repeated that explanation, it never quite fit. The job offer had been unwanted, embarrassing, and wrapped in enough pity to make my sk
