Baby," she says in a harsh whisper, "in this world, lots of people will try to grind you down. They need you to be small so they can be big. You let them think whatever they want, but you make sure you get yours. You get yours.

Clever girl. You play with fire because you want to be burnt.

That’s family for you. Can’t live with them, can’t murder them.

We are, largely, who we remember ourselves to be

She knew what it felt like to tremble like that before touching someone -- desire so acute that it became despair.

You are the best kind of killer, Cassel Sharpe, the kind that never has blood on his hands. The kind that never has to sicken at the sight of what he's done, or come to like it too much.

Instead, it just reminded her that sometimes there were no good choices.