"Very few things are good or evil in and of themselves; it's all how you use them. I remember my mother used to make these rock buns that really were like rocks. She made them with love but they could be used as weapons."

The waiter returned and set down their salads, and she thanked him again, picking up her fork and spearing half a hard-boiled egg, trying to keep her eyes anywhere but on that smile. "So how does fire remind people it deserves their respect?"