And that fucking stung. Cayce was a child of the Information Age, of course. Knowledge was power; what you knew was currency more potent than cash. Information was control. It was identity. It was everything.

It was, in fact, all she had left. That and her friendships. One of which was now, for all intents and purposes, on the rocks.

Go fuck yourself, Crowley.

But as furious as she was, she couldn't bring herself to say it, because that would have been too final.

So she said, "Well then, I'm sorry I misjudged you. You ever want to talk about this shit like a grown-up, you know where to find me."

And she turned on her heel and walked away. No goodbye, no fuck-off. It was the only way she could handle it.

She slammed her office door behind her.