I’m not anyone,” he says. “I’m nobody. That’s what being factionless is.

You’re too important to just … die.” He shakes his head. He won’t even look at me—his eyes keep shifting across my face, to the wall behind me or the ceiling above me, to everything but me. I am too stunned to be angry. “I’m not important. Everyone will do just fine without me,” I say. “Who cares about everyone? What about me?

"But please, when you see an opportunity..." He presses his hand to my cheek, cold and strong, and tilts my head up so I have to look at him. His eyes glint. They almost look predatory. "Ruin them."

I reach out and take his hand. His fingers slide between mine. I can't breathe.

We believe in shouting for those who can only whisper, in defending those who cannot defend themselves.

Christina,'i say,'The factionless have all the guns.

Sometimes I just... want to see it again. Want to see you awake.