What Feasts at Night (Sworn Soldier, #2)

by T. Kingfisher

The silence didn’t feel peaceful. It felt thick. Like the layer of fuzz on your tongue after a hard night of drinking, which you can’t see or touch but you can damn well taste.

Tomorrow, in my experience, is only worth worrying about when there’s something you can do about it.

sometimes think the fundamental disconnect with civilians is that they think a war is an event, something neatly bounded on either end by dates. What anyone who’s lived through one can tell you is that it’s actually a place. You’re there and then you leave, but places don’t stop existing just because you aren’t looking at them.

I realized that the silence had returned and settled like an unwelcome guest.

My breath suddenly had weight and form and it ripped at the soft tissues of my throat as she pulled it loose.