“She placed her palm over his wound, pressing as hard as she dared.She would stop the blood.She would hold him and stop his life from escaping.She would hold life inside him and he wouldn’t die”

“She twisted her hips in time to his rhythm, riding his hand. He couldn’t stop himself from dipping inside her heat, groaning when she coated his fingers, his palm—just, God, he wanted all that around him again.”

“She looked at him, watched the lights from the stage flicker over his expression, in the dark depths of his eyes. There was a whole other world in there, she thought and it was hers to explore forever if she would stop being so afraid.”

“He winced at her efforts to mollify him. Why didn't she say she was disgusted with his behaviour, with his long absence, his infrequent superficial letters? And if she did say it - would he defend himself? Would he give reasons, try to explain how meaningless every endeavour seemed to him? No. For then she would start crying again, he would tell her to stop being silly, she would ask for details, and he would tell her to mind her own business.”

“He needed to find that hard place inside that would center him like the middle of a compass. Throughout his life, the needle would point in various directions, but he would have to know where he stood.”

“She had made the choice for him - in a moment of flight and panic, but she had made it - not realizing that her Jace would rather die than be like this, and that she'd been not so much saving his life as damning him to an existence he would despise.”