Greyce

“Your arm is shot, Sorrengail,” Tynan hisses, his face pale and sweaty. “I’m used to functioning in pain, asshole. Are you?” I raise the dagger in my right hand just to prove that I can despite the blood that runs down my arm and drips from the tip of my blade, saturating the wrap across my palm. My gaze drops meaningfully to his side.”
― Rebecca Yarros, Fourth Wing