Zachili gestures something to me, which I interpret as: ‘I’m trying to not hit you, Tara. But a crude like me can hardly be a gentleman. I may snap.’

“Hit me, then. See if you can. I had a good teacher, remember?” I rap again while flexing my stance, my hands stabled in front of my face to defend, while my fists are wrapped tightly to attack.

But what weakens me is Zachili’s sudden smile. I don’t know what pit of hell it came from, but it looks good; better than the expressionless ...