Mariela

“It’s been. My honor.”
― Rebecca Yarros, Fourth Wing

“He cares for you. That’s already hard enough for him.”
“He cares about keeping me alive. There’s a difference.”
“Not for him there isn’t.”
― Rebecca Yarros, Fourth Wing

“Oh gods.'

'Which one are you calling out for?' he asks against my flesh. 'Because it's just you and me in this room, Vi, and I don't share.'

'You.' My fingers tangle in his hair. 'I'm calling out for you.'

'I appreciate the elevation to deity, but my name will do.”
― Rebecca Yarros, Fourth Wing

“Violet Sorrengail,' she whispers, moving closer. 'Are you wearing Riorson's flight jacket?'

Liam's head snaps in my direction, curse his stupidly good hearing.

'Why would you say that?' I do a shitty job of feigning shock and shove the sheaths into every available pocket in this thing. All three of them, which are considerably deeper than the ones in my own jacket.

'Oh, I don't know. Because it's huge on you and there are three stars right here?' She taps where there's only one star on her uniform.

Well, shit. Just goes to show that neither of us was thinking clearly.

'It could be any third-year's.' I shrug.

'With a Fourth Wing shield on the shoulder?' She cocks an eyebrow.

'That does limit it a bit,' I agree.

'And a wingleader emblem beneath those stars?' she teases.

'Fine, it's his.”
― Rebecca Yarros, Fourth Wing