You look like a puppy. Like I'm jingling my keys and you're jumping by the door waiting for your walk" "Woof.

Boys,' she says, 'just aren't very good at being afraid.

She had a short fuse this morning, because it was a day that ended with y, you see.

She breathed. "This is lovely." It was for Adam, not Gansey, but she saw Gansey glance over his shoulder at her.

I couldn't think of anything to say. I was idiotically entranced by the way he said "Grace." The tone of it. The way his lips formed the vowels. The timbre of his voice stuck in my head like music.

Have you heard of the legends of sleeping kings? The legends that heroes like Llewellyn and Glendower and Arthur aren’t really dead, but are instead sleeping in tombs, waiting to be woken?

Once upon a time, this moment - this last light of the evening the day before the race - was the best moment of the year for me. The anticipation of the game to come. But that was when all I had to lose was my life.