“Ironic. I'm here because of my inherent dangerousness, but it's my inherent politeness that makes me put up with this. With him.”

“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster.”

“But you're worried I'll get in trouble?" I try not to show how much this pleases me. I've managed to ignore him for days now and here I sit. Lapping up his attention like a neglected puppy. My voice takes on an edge. "Why do you care? I've ignored you for days."His smile fades. He looks serious, mockingly so. "Yeah. You got to stop that.”

“Don't stay away from me anymore."I stop myself, just barely, from telling him I won't. I can't promise that. Can't”

“So what's the deal with you and my sister?" He laughs shortly and rubs the back of his neck like something is there, tickling, tap”

“I touch his cheek, see my hand shake, and quickly pull itback. He grabs my wrist, places my palm back against hischeek, and closes his eyes like he’s in agony. Or bliss. Ormaybe both. Like he’s never been touched before.”

“I once saw a show about an amputee who lost his leg and still feels it. He actually wakes up at night to scratch his leg as if it’s still there, attached to him. They call it a phantom limb.I would be like that. A phantom draki, tormented with the memory of what I once was.”

“He stiffens against me, pain written all over the mess of a face. He grabs my face in his hands. Holds me. "It's not over. We're not through, Jacinda." His eyes blister, glitter darkly."I'll find you. I will. We'll be together again.”

“Then again, there’s nothing simple about Will. I think back to what he can do—bend earth, resist shading, his immense strength—and it’s glaringly inaccurate to consider him a human. But then I can’t think of him as a draki either. And this strikes me as sad. Will doesn’t belong anywhere. Not among humans. Not among draki.But he belongs with me. The conviction is still there, as senseless and dangerous as always, seeping into my bones, my heart. A fact I wouldn’t change even if I could.”

“When I shoot, the ball bounces hard against the backboard, and flies wildly through the air, knocking the coach in the head. I slap a hand over my mouth. The coach barely catches herself from falling. Several students laugh. She glares at me and readjusts her cap. With a small wave of apology, I head back to the end of the line. Will's there fighting laughter. "Nice," he says. "Glad I'm downcourt of you." I cross my arms and resist smiling, resist letting myself feel good around him. But he makes it hard. I want to smile. I want to like him, to be around him, to know him. "Happy to amuse you.”

“It's unclear who moves first. We're in each other's arms, lips locked, melded, hotly fused. Our hands drag over each other, reacquainting, remembering, almost as if we're both verifying the other one is real flesh and blood.”