Storm of Locusts (The Sixth World, #2)

by Rebecca Roanhorse

“Hoskie.” Hastiin drawls my last name out. Never my first name—Maggie—always just the last, like we’re army buddies or something. Likely his way of trying to forget he’s talking to a woman, but that’s his problem, not mine.

I just mean that when something is part of your identity for so long, even if it’s not a good thing, it’s hard to let it go. Even if maybe you should.”

“You did what?!” He stares into the distance, eyes on the horizon. “It seemed reasonable at the time.” “To you.” “Yes, to me,” he says, sounding slightly annoyed. “Who else would it sound reasonable to?” “No one.”

I think I really like Coyote. Pain in the ass.

“National Park Ranger,” Aaron offers. “They stayed on after the federal government collapsed. Called themselves the Alt-Rangers. Said they had a higher duty to the land than to the government. They still wear their uniforms. It’s sort of a calling.” “They’re not even armed.” “No one would touch them. They’re considered sacred.”

“Magic, medicine, science, and a little luck. If I had duct tape, I’d throw that in too.”