“No way.” Fjor shook his head. “I stab things. I don’t discuss emotions. Stabbing is cleaner, and that’s saying something, because stabbing is generally quite messy, as far as coping mechanisms go.” “Stabbing isn’t a coping mechanism,” I stubbornly pointed out. “It’s just murder.” “Or relief.” Fjor pulled out one of his daggers, caressing the blade as he looked at me in this carefully considering way that made me stumble back a step. “Or a tool to keep things the way I want them,” he added slowly. “How—” Vidrol deadpanned, glancing from Fjor to me. “How did you ever get her to kiss you?”
Book:A Castle of Ash