I'm Gonnna Break Your Faces!

I Promised I'd Save Him, Take Him Home! I Promised Him!" . . . Thomas Hugged Chuck To His Chest, Squeezed Him As Tightly As Possible, As If That Could Somehow Bring Him Back, Or Show Thanks For Saving His Life, For Being His Friend When No One Else Would. Thomas Cried, Wept Like He'd Never Wept Before. His Great, Racking Sobs Echoed Through The Chamber Like The Sounds Of Tortured Pain. (pg 358 Hardback)

Wonder Why We Can Do This,' He Called Out With His Mind. The Mental Effort Of Speaking To Her Was Already Straining—he Felt A Headache Forming Like A Bulge In His Brain. 'maybe We Were Lovers,' Teresa Said. Thomas Tripped And Crashed To The Ground. Smiling Sheepishly At Minho, Who’d Turned To Look Without Slowing, Thomas Got Back Up And Caught Up To Him. 'what?' He Finally Asked. He Sensed A Laugh From Her, A Watery Image Full Of Color.

Listen,' Thomas Said, Slowly Getting To His Feet, Hoping Minho Wouldn’t Be Stupid Enough To Try Anything. “there’s Something About Us. We’re Not Just Random Shanks Who Showed Up On Your Doorstep. We’re Valuable. Alive, Not Dead.” The Anger On Jorge’s Face Lessened Ever So Slightly. Maybe A Spark Of Curiosity. But What He Said Was 'what’s A Shank?

Can You Do That?” Thomas Asked. “huh?” “kill Someone Three Times.” “i’d Figure Out A Way.

I Don't Think There Is A Right Or Wrong Anymore. Only Horrible And Not-quite-so-horrible.