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“I loved your laugh, Nina. And your fierce warrior’s heart. I might have loved you, too.”
Grisha named Genya Safin.
You’re cuter when you’re smart.”
“What is he doing?” asked Matthias. “Performing an ancient Zemeni ritual,” Kaz said. “Really?” “No.”
Sankta Alina, martyred before she could turn eighteen.
We are all someone’s monster, Nina.”
They’d won the battle today;
But the merch was still winning the war.
He was just a boy fueled by a white flame of rage, one that threatened to burn the pretense of the hard-won civility he maintained to ash.
“I would come for you,” he said, and when he saw the wary look she shot him, he said it again. “I would come for you. And if I couldn’t walk, I’d crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we’d fight our way out together—knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that’s what we do. We never stop fighting.”
No mourners, no funerals. Another way of saying good luck. But it was something more. A dark wink to the fact that there would be no expensive burials for people like them, no marble markers to remember their names, no wreaths of myrtle and rose.
You’re weak because you’re afraid of people seeing your weakness. You’re letting shame decide who you are.
But he didn’t. He drew closer.
this. The distance between them felt like nothing. It felt like miles.
He was that close. He was that far from reach.
