“What if I’m all fight?” he whispered. “What if that’s all I have to give?” The sun was low now, nearly over the rooftops, casting golden light through the alley, turning his golden hair, dusted with soot and mud from the Rookery, to the same color as his eyes, burning into hers. Those eyes that she knew as well as her own. Better. The ones that haunted her in her dreams—the only place she could allow herself to remember them. He lowered his voice. “What if you cannot claim my fight without claiming me?”
