No racing heartbeat.

No bitter tears.

The intense, burning desire for vengeance that had sustained me through the ICU, through the surgeries and the physical therapy and the long hours of courtroom testimony, that fury that had been the fuel keeping me alive when my body wanted to quit, had, at some point in the preceding months, quietly consumed itself, and burned all the way down, and left behind, in its place, something far better: a vast, pristine clarity.

I did not need to gloat over Julian’s cell, or Selina’s.