He was as honest as any criminal can hope to be.

She didn't know how much she'd been hoping that he still loved her, until she felt how much it hurt to realize he didn't.

She loves the serene brutality of the ocean, loves the electric power she felt with each breath of wet, briny air.

You in trouble?” Sam asks. The way he says it, I wonder if he’s thinking about how to get out of here if I am.

The funny thing about good people—people like Daneca—is that they really honestly don’t get the impulse toward evil. They have an incredibly hard time reconciling with the idea that a person who makes them smile can still be capable of terrible things. Which is why, although she’s accusing me of being a murderer, she seems more annoyed than actually worried about getting murdered. Daneca seems to persist in a belief that if I would just listen and understand how bad my bad choices are, I’d stop making them.

Sometimes,” Sam says, “I can’t tell when you’re lying.” “I never lie,” I lie.

Occasionally, there are battles in the sky. One likes to imagine the angels are always triumphant. One does not like to think of the ancient and terrible scales balancing the infernal and divine as wobbling back and forth. Tilting freely, to and fro. One does not like to think that sometimes it is the angel that falls.