mon

“Neil looked down at the key in his hand. "Home," he whispered, needing to hear it aloud. It was a foreign concept to him, an impossible dream. It was frightening and wonderful all at once, and it set his heart racing so fast he thought it'd drum out of his chest. "Welcome home, Neil.”
― Nora Sakavic, The Foxhole Court

“What would it take to make you stay?"
The question was so unexpected Neil had to turn back. "What?"
Andrew laughed quietly at his shock and leaned forward. "Name it and it's yours. It doesn't matter what it is so long as you stand your ground here with us.”
― Nora Sakavic, The Foxhole Court

“You don't even who know I am." "The hell I don't," Wymack said. "You're Neil Josten, nineteen year-old recruit from Millport, Arizona. Born March 31st, five-foot-three, right-handed, stick size three. Starting striker for my Foxes and most improved freshman striker in NCAA Class I Exy. "No," Wymack said, getting louder when Neil started to interrupt. "Look me in the eye and tell me if you think I care who you used to be. Hm?”
― Nora Sakavic, The King's Men

“I'll always have and be nothing." Andrew reached up and forcibly uncurled Neil's fingers from his mouth. He pushed Neil's hand out of the way and stared Neil down with nothing between them. Neil didn't understand the look on his face. There was no censure over Neil's crooked parents or pity for their deaths, no triumph over having backed Neil into admitting so much, and no obvious skepticism for such an outlandish story. Whatever this look was, it was dark and intense enough to swallow Neil whole.”
― Nora Sakavic, The Foxhole Court