As the sky faded to night, her anger dissipated—but not in a healing way, just dulled, like forged iron sizzling in a cold pail of water.

Their hatred was the twisted metal of a train wreck, all blistering heat and tangled beams as solid lines mutated into something irrevocably changed.

Three things lit her match without fail—abusive assholes, idiots who didn’t use their turn signals, and unannounced shifters moving in on her territory.

Aggression like this demanded slinging the first punch in a bar brawl, firing rounds at a range, or setting a car on fire.