“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.”

“Ostendes tuum et ostendam meus?”

“Ronan and Declan Lynch were undeniably brothers, with the same dark brown hair and sharp nose, but Declan was solid where Ronan was brittle. Declan’s wide jaw and smile said Vote for me while Ronan’s buzzed head and thin mouth warned that this species was dangerous.”

“Gansey had once told Adam that he was afraid most people didn't know how to handle Ronan. What he meant by this was that he was worried that one day someone would fall on Ronan and cut themselves.”

“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.”