Laura

“I had not thought we would end like this,” he said. “That you would kill me as your father killed Fausten.”
Conor gave a sort of gasping laugh. “You know me well, too well,” he said. “I, too, was thinking of Fausten tonight.”
“I do not know how Fausten may have felt,” Kel said, “but I would rather that you ended my life than that you let anyone else do it. My life was always yours anyway.”
Conor closed his eyes, just for a moment. When they fluttered open again, they were wide, piercing—haunted. Conor took hold of the lapels of Kel’s jacket, fingers whitening with the tautness of his grip.
He said, “You are my unbreakable armor. And you will not die.”
He pulled Kel closer for a moment; Kel felt Conor’s lips brush his forehead and something cold settle around his neck. Conor let go of his shirt—Kel could see the Castelguards, not far behind him now, staring with wide eyes—and Conor’s hands struck Kel’s chest, flat-palmed, a hard shove. Kel stumbled, felt the ground under him crumble and give way as he fell, toppling headlong from the cliff edge to the sea below.”
― Cassandra Clare, The Ragpicker King