"A mission!"
He was already shaking his head before she could get the rest of her sentence out. She tried to plead her case, to make him understand. This is what she did; this is who she was.
"No," he said.
She didn't like the hard line his lips formed when he was angry or the way his eyes seemed to cut right through her. In mere seconds, with just the utter of a few words, all warmth had left him. Then again, he was rarely ever warm these days. His moods changed as quickly as hers did.
She felt her own spite welling inside her, telling her to point out that he treated her like some kind of disease half the time. What did he care what she did and did not do?