“You look furious,” Pritkin said, watching me.“I just—I can’t understand not fighting for your life— for what you want. Just giving up—”A corner of his mouth quirked. “No. You would not understand that. You never stop trying, do you?”“What else is there?”“Despair. Hopelessness. Anger. Depression.”“But those don’t get you anywhere.”He huffed out something that might have been a laugh, only it didn’t sound happy. “No. They don’t.”