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“Mia's fingers thickened, blood crawling through her veins. It was not the first time Quin had left a trail of frostbite in his wake. She couldn't account for the sluggishness of her hands or the kiss of cold against her cheek when he was near. Was this how it felt to be hated? Like sinking into a snowdrift, naked and exposed?” — Bree Barton
Mia's fingers thickened, blood crawling through her veins. It was not the first time Quin had left a trail of frostbite in his wake. She couldn't account for the sluggishness of her hands or the kiss of cold against her cheek when he was near. Was this how it felt to be hated? Like sinking into a snowdrift, naked and exposed?