““He stared at her, strung so tight he looked like he might snap, and suddenly to her he seemed young, and overburdened, and at the furthest edge of exhaustion. “I didn’t know you were wounded,” he added, eyeing the blood on her dress; and confusing her, because he actually sounded sorry about it. She didn’t want his apologies. She wanted to hate him, because he was hateful. “You’re inhuman. You do nothing but hurt people,” she said, because it was the worst thing she could think of to say. “You’re the monster, not I.””
