in a bell tower to overwhelming intensity.
Kell had known of the Shadows' return. Kell had kept secret the Shadows. Kell had encouraged Elizar to go to the Shadows. He had helped to create a killer. Kell had sent them needlessly into danger. Kell had sent them to know what was already known. There had been no need. They could have stayed. Then everything would not have changed. Everything would not have been lost. But because of Kell, she was dead. Dead.
He had spent a month hiding from that name, and now it rang inside him. The tech's agitating energy welled up in a rush of heat, energy driving through him, urging him toward action.
He could not see her face, only the small clear tube of ash that had lain on his palm. In conjured fire her body had been reduced to dust. Dust to dust.
The rage swelled, reverberating through him. He had been holding it inside all this time, holding it so tightly he hadn't even known it was there. He had kept it in so long; could he not be allowed, finally, to act?
His body was trembling, fists clenched, heart racing. Fire burned along the meridians of his tech, the same fire that had consumed Isabelle, that had crippled Elric. But in his case the fire was a source of strength, a source of hate and destruction. Morden had told him, and Morden had been right. Galen was just like the Shadows. All he wanted was destruction.
He would take that hate and strike back against the pain, strike back at his enemy. Kell's ship was well within range of his weapons. He brought them to bear.
He need only select fire from the menu of options. And Kell would be killed.
Then her face came to him, slack in death, as it had looked after Elizar's spike had wound its way into her brain. Her head