Stacia considers pretending that she has no idea what Saturday means by got your own back, as if she had no involvement in the bloody mess that had been made of the Silver Fangs. It'd be logical, be good practice for if anyone came around asking back home. You can do whatever you want, but only if you don't get caught, and covering your ass is part of that.

But fuck it, that's a waste of time and a waste of the ear Saturday offered her.

"Yeah," she agrees. "I will do better next time. And yeah, in some ways, being the survivor kind of sucks." She laughs, and it's more genuine this time. "You know, I used to worry that I was a monster? Just this constant, low-grade whisper in the back of my head that all it would take is a single slip and I wouldn't be able to tell right from wrong anymore. I'd undo everything that happened in half a heartbeat if I could, but it's nice to not have that worry gnawing at me anymore."