Magic ran between them like a current, a cord, and he wondered who she would have been if she’d stayed in Grey London. If she’d never picked his pocket, never held the contents ransom for adventure.
Maybe she would never have discovered magic.
Or maybe she would have simply changed her world instead of his.

Don't get yourself killed."
"I'll do my best," said Kell, and then he was going.
"And come back," added Rhy.
Kell paused. "Don't worry," he said. "I will. Once I've seen it."
"Seen what?" asked Rhy.
Kell smiled. "Everything.

It was better not to care but sometimes, people got in. Like a knife against armor, they found the cracks, slid past the guard, and you didn’t know how deep they were buried until they were gone and you were bleeding on the floor.

Are you as famous in your world as Kell is here?”
Lila thought of the wanted posters lining her London. “Not for the same reasons.

There were a hundred shades between a truth and lie, and she knew them all.

«This is why I run.»
Because caring was a thing with claws. It sank them in, and didn't let go. Caring hurt more than a knife to the leg, more than a few broken ribs, more than anything that bled or broke and healed again. Caring didn't break you clean. It was a bone that didn't set, a cut that wouldn't close.
It was better not to care - Lila tried not to care - but, sometimes, people got in. Like a knife against armor, they found the cracks, slid past the guard, and you didn't know how deep they were buried until they were gone and you were bleeding on the floor. And it wasn't fair.