"Sometimes that's the kindest thing you can do for them."

The words are a murmur, her eyes never leaving the drawings.

"It wasn't so long ago I did something similar. And you know? They were grateful for it. It freed their minds, when those of us conscious took the shortest route to unbinding them."

But she had enjoyed it. The swift death had filled her veins, the savage vengeance had sang. Fingernails broken and grip unyielding on the knife, madness and lightning and the tide. Would she have been able to stop, if everything hadn't collapsed? Would anyone have seen how she was unable to mourn? In the crowd, Fever can hide as a hero, defending others and trying for escape, offering mercy from a tyrant's clutches. She's the one who knows freedom was a fortunate byproduct. That she'd have done it regardless, given half a chance.