Warcross (Warcross, #1)

by Marie Lu

There is a familiar desperation in me, a rising panic that beats loudly in my chest, pounding out each thing I owe. The numbers in my head start over again. Rent, food, bills, debt.

Maybe the fog in my chest could grow, denser and denser, until someday it’d swallow me, and I could be gone, too.

When you refuse to ask for help, it tells others that they also shouldn’t ask for help from you. That you look down on them for needing your help. That you like feeling superior to them.

Everything in darkness looks like fragments of monsters.