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Why are the men with slag for souls the best fallen angels?
“Who?” she asks breathlessly. “Which one of my boys is getting married?” Archer and Patton both look at me. If I die tonight, I’m going out as a murderer.
But isn’t that how it goes with instinct? You watch something precious as it falls apart and you try to protect your heart from the incoming blow. You prepare for the worst, even if you know you don’t have a prayer of stopping it.
