The next night, Lincoln parked his Corolla right next to The Courier's front door. I'm here, he thought. Find me. Follow me. Make this inevitable.

That's the ultimate kind of broken. The kind of damage you never recover from.

Eleanor had never thought about killing herself – ever – but she thought a lot about stopping. Just running until she couldn’t run anymore. Jumping from something so high that she’d never hit the bottom.

I think I can live without you, but it won't be any kind of life.

I don’t want to kiss a stranger,” Cath would answer. “I’m not interested in lips out of context.

It felt good to be writing in her own room, in her own bed. To get lost in the World of Mages and stay lost. To not hear any voices in her head but Simon's and Baz's. Not even her own. This was why Cath wrote fic. For these hours when their world supplanted the real world.

Real life was something happening in her peripheral vision.