83 years old and she still didn't miss a thing. He likes an audience. Likes making people feel small in front of other people. This morning, he broke Danyy's necklace off my neck and put his boot on it. Elanor's expression didn't change much, but her grip on Ren's hand tightened just slightly.
The trident piece. It's fine. I fixed the cord. That's not what I asked either. Eleanor's voice was gentle, but it carried the particular steadiness Ren remembered from childhood.
The voice her grandmother used when she wanted a real answer instead of a comfortable one. How did it feel watching him do that? Ren was quiet a long moment like every part of me wanted to move, she admitted finally. And I didn't. Why not?
Because moving the way I wanted to move would have ended his jaw, Grandma. Not his pride, his jaw. She said it plainly without drama. The way a person states a fact of physics. There's no undoing something like that.
And I don't want to be the kind of person who breaks the things she's supposed to be protecting people from. That's a wise line to walk. Eleanor said, "I raised your mother and I helped raise you in a family that has never once run from a fight worth having. But I also taught you when you were 7 years old and some boy pulled your hair on the playground that there's a difference between courage and cruelty." "Do you remember what I told you?"
"You don't need to win," Ren said softly. You need to hold on to who you are. That's right. Eleanor squeezed her hand. Whoever this boy is, he's going to keep pushing until he finds the bottom of you.
Everyone like that does. They can't help it. It's the only way they know how to measure themselves against how far they can push someone quieter than they are. I know his type, Ren said. I served with men who thought volume was the same thing as strength.