A Conjuring of Light (Shades of Magic, #3)

by V.E. Schwab

He fought, and clawed, and gasped for air, strength leaching out with every violent thrash, every desperate struggle. It was worse than dying, because dying gave way to death, and this did not.

she didn’t know if she was clumsy or cursed, only that in her hands, things always fell apart.

It was better not to care—Lila tried not to care—but sometimes, people got in. Like a knife against armor, they found the cracks, slid past the guard, and you didn’t know how deep they were buried until they were gone and you were bleeding on the floor. And it wasn’t fair.

People spoke of love as if it were an arrow. A thing that flew quick, and always found its mark. They spoke of it as if it were a pleasant thing, but Maxim had taken an arrow once, and knew it for what it was: excruciating.