Page 167 - Fourth Wing

“Killing you wouldn’t be any trouble, Violence. It’s leaving you alive that

seems to cause the majority of my trouble.”
My gaze swings up to clash with his, but his face is unreadable, cloaked

in shadow, go figure.

“Sorry to be a hassle.” Sarcasm drips from my voice. “You know the
problem with this place?” I tug my arm back again, but he holds fast.

“Besides you touching things that don’t belong to you?” My eyes narrow on

him.
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.” My stomach flutters as his thumb

brushes my pulse and he releases my wrist.

I answer before I can think better of it. “Hope.”
“Hope?” He tips his head closer to mine, as if he wasn’t sure he heard me

right.
“Hope.” I nod. “Someone like you would never get it, but I knew coming

here was a death sentence. It didn’t matter that I’ve been trained my entire

life to enter the Scribe Quadrant; when General Sorrengail gives an order,
you can’t exactly ignore it.” Gods, why am I running off at the mouth to

this man? What’s the worst he’ll do? Kill you?
“Sure you can.” He shrugs. “You just might not like the consequences.”

I roll my eyes, and to my utter embarrassment, instead of pulling away

now that I’m free, I lean in just a little, like I can siphon off some of his
strength. He certainly has enough to spare.

“I knew what the odds were, and I came anyway, concentrating on that

tiny percentage of a chance that I would live. And then I make it almost two
months and I get…” I shake my head, clenching my jaw. “Hopeful.” The

word tastes sour.

“Ah. And then you lose a squadmate, and you can’t quite get up the
chimney, and you give up. I’m starting to see. It’s not a flattering picture,

but if you want to run off to the Scribe Quadrant—”
I gasp, fear punching a hole in my stomach. “How do you know about