“His shadows were different. Born in a lightless, airless prison meant to break him. Instead, he had learned its language.” ― Sarah J. Maas
----
Azareal stared at the woman in front of him. Her body was bruised and she was limping, but her spine was straight and her eyes were full of fire. He had seen that fire, too, when she was fighting last night with the stone troll. She was fierce, fearless and she defeated something that was more powerful than her... and she was what he had been looking for...
Azareal didn't much care for the politics of the cursed sword or what Madame Yin Chiu was doing with the slaves and omegas, for pleasure and for gold coins and Euven. It was such a waste of time as far as Azareal was concerned, but he didn't poke his head where it was not necessarily needed
