Love is . . .” An old memory with Adrian came back to me, and some of the turbulent emotion I always carried within me these days welled up in my chest. It was stupid, feeling so lovesick when he’d been gone less than a day, but I couldn’t get him or the ways he described love out of my head. “. . . a flame in the dark. A breath of warmth on a winter’s night. A star that guides you home.

You look confused," said Adrian. I shook my head and sighed. "I think I'm just overthinking things." He nodded solemnly. "That's why I try to never do it.

I'll find you. There is no place in this world you can hide from me. I'm watching. Love, Dimitri

You remember our talk about purpose and meaning?" he asked me, the smile disappearing. "Well, I think this might be mine. I think this is what I was meant to do, Georgina.

I can pick a lock. How do you think I got into my parents' liquor cabinet in middle school?

It’s easy to want peace and love in hypothetical situations—then reality sets in, and sometimes we have to do what’s ugly.

And sometimes, if I was really, really lucky, he’d smile at me. A real smile, too—not the dry one that accompanied the sarcasm we tossed around so often. I didn’t want to admit it to anyone—not to Lissa, not even to myself—but some days, I lived for those smiles.