Kala

“Oh, you know me.” Jean reached behind his neck, down behind the loose leather vest he wore over his simple cotton tunic. He withdrew a pair of matching hatchets, each a foot and a half in length, with leather-wrapped handles and straight black blades that narrowed like scalpels. These were balanced with balls of blackened steel, each as wide around as a silver solon. The Wicked Sisters—Jean’s weapons of choice. “I never travel alone. It’s always the three of us.”
― Scott Lynch, The Lies of Locke Lamora

“I'm fit and I'm angry, and I'm obviously crazy. Anything could happen.”
― Scott Lynch, The Lies of Locke Lamora

“Your calculations are off. This merits a triple fuckdamn at least.”
― Scott Lynch, The Lies of Locke Lamora

“Gentlemen Bastards." hissed Locke, "do not abandon one another, and we do not run when we owe vengeance.”
― Scott Lynch, The Lies of Locke Lamora