He said it like a compliment.
"But twenty-four hours," he continued, "is sufficient."
The rage hit Satou before the thought did.
Not the deliberate, managed anger he usually carried into difficult situations — not the cold focused fury that had sustained him through five days of siege, that had kept him functional through the Ancient God fight, that had been the specific emotional architecture of survival through impossible things. This was different. Faster. The specific rage of someone who had been out-maneuvered by something that had used their own commitment to protect people against them, who had watched a member of their team disappear into a sealed dimension while standing five feet away and unable to stop it.
He moved.
