“What’s going on with your face, by the way?”Gansey rubbed his chin, rueful. His skin felt reluctantly stubbled. He knew he was being diverted, but he allowed it. “Is it growing?”“Dude, you aren’t really going to do that beard thing, are you? I thought you were joking. You know that stopped being cool in the fourteen century or whenever it was that Paul Bunyan lived.” Ronan looked over his shoulder at him. He was sporting the five o’clock shadow that he was capable of growing at any time of the day. “Just stop. You look mangy.”“It’s irrelevant. It’s not growing. I’m doomed to be a man-child.”“If you keep saying things like ‘man-child,’ we’re done,” Ronan said. “Hey, man. Don’t let it get you down. Once your balls drop, that beard’ll come in great.”

“Blue." It was Ronan's voice, for the first time, and everyone, even Helen, twisted their head towards him. His head was cocked in a way that Gansey recognized as dangerous. Something in his eyes was sharp as he stared at Blue. He asked, "Do you know Gansey?" ... Blue looked defensive under their stares. She said reluctantly. "Only his name." With his fingers loosely together, elbows on his knees, Ronan leaned forward across Adam to be closer to Blue. He could be unbelievably threatening. "And how is it," he asked," you came to know Gansey's name?”

“Haven’t you heard of being hung, drawn, and quartered?”Blue asked, “Is it as painful as conversations with Ronan?”Gansey cast a glance over to Ronan, who was a small, indistinct form by the trees. Adam audibly swallowed a laugh.“Depends on if Ronan is sober,” Gansey answered.Adam asked, “What is he doing, anyway?”“Peeing.”“Trust Lynch to deface a place like this five minutes after getting here.”“Deface? Marking his territory.”“He must own more of Virginia than your father, then.”“I don’t think he’s ever used an indoor toilet, now that I consider it.”

“The night following the reading, Gansey woke up to a completely unfamiliar sound and fumbled for his glasses. It sounded a little like one of his roommates was being killed by a possum, or possibly the final moments of a fatal cat fight. He wasn’t certain of the specifics, but he was sure death was involved.Noah stood in the doorway to his room, his face pathetic and long-suffering. “Make it stop,” he said.Ronan’s room was sacred, and yet here Gansey was, twice in the same weak, pushing the door open. He found the lamp on and Ronan hunched on the bed, wearing only boxers. Six months before, Ronan had gotten the intricate black tattoo that covered most of his back and snaked up his neck, and now the monochromatic lines of it were stark in the claustrophobic lamplight, more real than anything else in the room. It was a peculiar tattoo, both vicious and lovely, and every time Gansey saw it, he saw something different in the pattern. Tonight, nestled in an inked glen of wicked, beautiful flowers, was a beak where before he’d seen a scythe.The ragged sound cut through the apartment again.“What fresh hell is this?” Gansey asked pleasantly. Ronan was wearing headphones as usual, so Gansey stretched forward far enough to tug them down around his neck. Music wailed faintly into the air.Ronan lifted his head. As he did, the wicked flowers on his back shifted and hid behind his sharp shoulder blades. In his lap was the half-formed raven, its head tilted back, beak agape.“I thought we were clear on what a closed door meant,” Ronan said. He held a pair of tweezers in one hand.“I thought we were clear that night was for sleeping.”Ronan shrugged. “Perhaps for you.”“Not tonight. Your pterodactyl woke me. Why is it making that sound?”In response, Ronan dipped the tweezers into a plastic baggy on the blanket in front of him. Gansey wasn’t certain he wanted to know what the gray substance was in the tweezers’ grasp. As soon as the raven heard the rustle of the bag, it made the ghastly sound again—a rasping squeal that became a gurgle as it slurped down the offering. At once, it inspired both Gansey’s compassion and his gag reflex.“Well, this is not going to do,” he said. “You’re going to have to make it stop.”“She has to be fed,” Ronan replied. The ravel gargled down another bite. This time it sounded a lot like vacuuming potato salad. “It’s only every two hours for the first six weeks.”“Can’t you keep her downstairs?”In reply, Ronan half-lifted the little bird toward him. “You tell me.”

“I found it.""People find pennies," Gansey replied. "Or car keys. Or four-leaf clovers.""And ravens," Ronan said. "You're just jealous 'cause" - at this point, he had to stop to regroup his beer-sluggish thoughts - "you didn't find one, too.”

“You seem to have an extremely large bag today, Mr. Lynch,” Whelk said.“You know what they say about men with large bags,” Ronan replied. "Ostendes tuum et ostendam meus?”"Gansey had no idea what Ronan had just said, but he was certain from Ronan’s smirk that it wasn’t entirely polite.Whelk’s expression confirmed Gansey’s suspicion, but he merely rapped on Ronan’s desk with his knuckles and moved off.“Being a shit in Latin isn’t the way to an A,” Gansey said.Ronan’s smile was golden. “It was last year.”

“Well,” said Ronan, “I hope he likes it. I’ve pulled a muscle.”Gansey scoffed, “Doing what? You were standing watch.”“Opening my hood.”