Simon Snow is still going to die kissing me.
Just not today.

But he’s the most familiar thing in this house, and I fall asleep better, listening to Baz breathe, than I have since winter break started.

It's always fire with Baz. I can't believe he hasn't incinerated me yet. Or burned me at the stake.

Tall. Black hair swept back from his forehead. Lips curled up in a sneer... I know that face as well as my own.

And sometimes holes want to get bigger, but Baz was wrong—sometimes they just want to be filled.

Go on, then," he says. "Carry on, Simon.