Don't be drinking the Haterade.

Can't get away from your own self.

If you keep it," Daneca says, "he'll have his claws in you." Everyone has their claws in me. Everyone.

Ah coffee. The sweet balm by which we shall accomplish today's tasks.

He must have been handsome when he was alive and was handsome still, although made monstrous by his pallor and her awareness of what he was. His mouth looked soft, his cheekbones as sharp as blades, and his jaw curved, giving him an off-kilter beauty. His black hair a mad forest of dirty curls.

He’s quiet then. We lie next to each other, twin corpses waiting for burial.

Yesterday when we went over the plan again and again, I never thought about Grandad showing up. Because I'm an idiot, basically--an idiot with poor planning skills. Of course he's here. Where else would he be? Seriously, what else could go wrong?