"The point…" you muse, tapping your chin with a finger in a mockery of thought. "Yes, I suppose I must have had one of those, mustn't I? That's why I'm different from you. That's why I'm the monster. Because when I look at the world, I don't see people, do I? Just levers. So when one refuses to be pulled, the only thing I know how to do is to break it."
Your smile is a masterpiece. It falls crooked across your jaw, like you're trying to keep an amusement on your face that you're struggling to feel—like you're lying to yourself about how well you're lying to everyone else.
(It's a smile that has your eyes focusing anywhere else but the glint of the knife poking out of Mai's sleeve, lest you see yourself in it.)
"Tell me, Mai." You lean forward across the table, pressing your palms into the surface until your knuckles whiten. "How broken are you feeling right now?"
Ty Lee gets it first, you think. Her arm twitches over Mai's, like she's thinking about reaching out to you instead; her cheeks pale and her lips open. Mai, by contrast, takes a little longer—and then it hits her and her eyes narrow even as her frown softens ever-so-slightly.
"Not enough to believe you," she says, but with an edge that bruises instead of cuts. "Nice try, though."
"You're such a softie, Azula!" Ty Lee says, which is the first and hopefully last time the universe has ever heard that sequence of words in that order. She's smiling at you, now, like she did when you crossed to her for the spike at the volleyball game; like she does when you've done something she's proud of.