“You know,” says Jack. “We think ourselves immortal, but we’re not.” Charlotte blinks, forcing her attention back to him. “Live long enough, and things begin to rot.” He draws a hand from his pocket, taps a fingertip against his chest. “Compassion, affection, humility, care.” One strike with every word. “They drop away like petals, till all that’s left is stem and thorn. Hunger, and the urge to hunt.”
