“It was Lao Jian’s voice. He moved on too quick for our eyes to meet. For now, it was enough that I’d felt his breath, heard his voice, and saw his retreating form running toward the Trout Creek line.”

“As his hands moved to his trousers, he saw that she was pulling the bedsheets over her. "Don't," he said, barely recognizing his own voice. Her eyes met his, and he said, "I'll be your blanket".”

“I wanted to hear his voice again, yet feared to meet his eye.”

“Drunken party friends can still kiss, right?” His voice was low and rumbling and I heard my breath catch as I fought to steady my voice. “We’re not drunk.” “You didn’t answer my question,” he breathed. I licked my lips again subconsciously and once again regretted it as I saw his eyes watching me intently. He probably thought I was doing it on purpose to taunt him. “Um.”

“Peeta's awake already, sitting on the side of the bed, looking bewildered as the trio of doctors reassure him, flash lights in his eyes, checks his pules. I'm disappointed that mine was not the first face he saw when he woke up, but he sees it now. His features registrer disbelief and something more intense that I can't quite place. Desire? Desperation? Surely both, for he sweeps the doctors aside, leaps to his feets and moves towards me. I run to meet him, my arms extended to embrace him. His hands are reaching for mine too, to caress my face, I think.My lips are forming his name when his fingers lock around my throat.”

“Celaena," Chaol said gently. And then she heard the scraping noise as his hand came into view, sliding across the flagstones. His fingertips stopped just at the edge of the white line. "Celaena," he breathed, his voice laced with pain—and hope. This was all she had left—his outstretched hand, and the promise of hope, of something better waiting on the other side of the line.”