She hated caring because all it did was make the bad things worse.

People like her didn’t have homes, they had stones. Stones for beds, stones for food, stones for graves.

Don’t be stupid, Hayseed. You know there’s no such thing as justice. Bad guys win, good guys die. Good guys die a lot.

What should I carry?” she asked, her voice coming from someone else’s body. No way did Hayley — that street rat, that scoundrel, that criminal, that escaped slave — flat out ask what weapon she would carry into battle.

If you only practice sometimes, you shall only be somewhat good,” Gavin said.He may be some angel-demon on the battlefield, but his motivational speeches were like a wine-soaked aunt prattling on to her army of cats.

I can die?” Hayley squeaked.“We can all die,” he said with a shrug.She pursed her lips at that. No shit, everyone can die, it’s that opposite part of living. But… “How likely is the dying part? Like…plague rips apart a village, or knock your head on a rock and maybe bleed from your eyeballs certain death?”“That,” the knight returned to his march through the masses, “depends entirely upon you.