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She wore her clothes like armor. They were expensive, freshly pressed. She’d had a coat of clear polish on her nails. Not a French manicure, not a color—clear. Why wear polish at all if it was transparent? Did she enjoy the ritual of applying it, putting a thin layer between her nails and the rest of the world? There was subtext there: protection, distance, strength.
The eerie thing about Lia was that she could make anything sound genuine.
There was an intimate connection between a killer and the person they’d killed. Bodies were like messages, full of symbolic meanings that only a person who understood the needs and desires and rage that went into snuffing out another life could fully decode.
“None of us had normal childhoods,” Sloane said quietly. “If we had, we wouldn’t be Naturals.”
“I’m more of a realist,” the boy said. “People die. Young people, pretty people, people who have their whole lives in front of them. The only real immortality is doing something worth remembering.”
‘To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.’ ”
“The philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche said that anyone who fought monsters had to fight becoming a monster himself. ‘If you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.’
Most people built walls to protect themselves. Dean did it to protect everyone else.
“Other people aren’t worthy of empathy to the organized killer, because other people are less. To them, being average is the same as being disposable.”
