I don't own any of this.
Different
Her words are a little too sharp, and I marvel at their veracity. She's different now, but that's not news any longer. She was different after that summer in Los Angeles; I wonder if this happens every time she dies. I realise I don't know how many times she's died—are there more than just the two?—and how many more times she'll have to.
Every night, she risks her life. This is her seventh year on the job; she's remarkably resilient, the kind of girl who can die twice and climb out of a grave only to keep fighting.
