“So predictable, Crèvecoeur,” he drawls as he unsheathes my weapon. “Never without her special little dagger.” “With the number of times you bring it up, Vainglory,” I spit back, a taunting tug lifting the corner of my mouth. “I’m starting to think you’ve developed an obsession.” He hums in agreement, his thumb slowly dragging his blood over my lips. “I certainly have.”
