You’re wearing your medal,” he said. I grazed the gold with my fingertips. “I wasn’t sure if I should, if it was dressy enough?” “You should. Consider it your dog tag.” “In case I get lost?” “In case you’re fried to ash and that sliver of gold is all that’s left of you.” Vampire tact, I thought, left something to be desired.
-Chloe Neill
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