Lassiter came in alone, likely because Doc Jane had returned to the Pit. And the angel was naked as a jaybird… and just frickin’ fine. No bullet holes, no scars, no contusions. “You keep looking at me like that and you’d better buy me dinner afterward.

If I can live through the events,” she said, “I can get through the memories.

[...]you know what they say about messengers, right"? Excuse me?" Too much bad news will get you shot."[...]

With that, he looked over his shoulder. Blay's breath shot out of his lungs. "Oh... my God," he whispered.

After all, tragedy didn't discriminate, so everyone was subject to the same whims of fate.

I think you and he need to talk. And once you do, I won’t have to worry about being jumped like a felon again.” Blay frowned. “He and I have nothing to say to each other—” “With all due respect, the ligature marks around my neck would suggest otherwise.

I’m on the benevolent side of antisocial. I don’t mind people, but I’d prefer not to have a lot of them around.