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Kat

Kat pops a Nostalgia and a Hatred and leans back in the chair, feeling it well inside her: old, old rage, titanic and black and red. She’s twenty-six and she feels ten thousand. Over there Wil has just taken a Fear, and he scrabbles back toward the wall when she stalks toward him, delirious with hate.

Her fists are bloody soon, knuckles bruised, and Wil’s slumped and shuddering. They’re both loving this, but she needs something else: shaking hands find the bottle of Remorse, and she dry-swallows two.

Remorse is small and blue. Dropping to her knees, Kat understands exactly why.

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