I laughed. It was just like Owen to make excuses for someone else’s shortcomings. Even fictional characters. Owen found my tendency to speak my mind “refreshingly honest,” and hailed Marc’s temper as “a deep protective instinct.” He said Ethan “thoroughly enjoyed life,” and that Parker “really knew how to have a good time.” According to Owen, we were all doing just fine, and all was right with the world.

Some things are private. Some things needed to be said, even when the person who needed to hear them couldn’t hear anything. Ever again.

Even before the withdrawal sets in, you'll do anything to get that feeling back, because as long as it lasts, nothing's wrong. It doesn't matter if you forget something, or lose something. Or if you fail someone. Nothing's wrong and everything feels good, and you never want it to end.

Hey." Tod squeezed my hand to draw me out of my thoughts. "I think death looks good on you.

At least you don’t need a prescription for tequila.

"I spent two hours trying to question reapers without sounding like I was questioning them. What do you think it says about us as a group, that every reaper I know is either irritable, egotistical, voyeuristic, or some combination of the three?" "That you fit in well?"

"You already said that," Sabine said, folding the wrapper back from her burger. "You said it a lot, actually. Which supports my theory that apologies are basically pointless. They don't fix anything, right? That's why I rarely bother."