" As he stood with his fingers in the iceflower bowls, he heard his mom and Cyra talking.
“My son was eager for me to meet you, I could tell,” his mom said. “You must be a good friend.”
“Um…yes,” Cyra said. “I think so, yes.”
You think so, Akos thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He’d given her clear enough labels, back in the stairwell, but she still couldn’t quite believe it. That was the problem with being so convinced of your own awfulness--you thought other people were lying when they didn’t agree with you.
“I have heard that you have a talent for death,” his mom said. At least Akos had warned Cyra about Sifa’s lack of charm.
He glanced at Cyra. She held her armored wrist against her gut.
“I suppose I do,” she said. “But I don’t have a passion for it.”
Vapor slipped from the nose of the water kettle, not yet thick enough for Akos to pour. Water had never boiled so slowly.
“You two have spent a lot of time together,” his mom said.
“Yes.”
“Are you to blame for his survival these past few seasons?”
“No,” Cyra said. “Your son survives because of his own will.”
His mom smiled. “You should defensive.”
“I don’t take credit for other people’s strength,” Cyra said. “Only my own.”
His mom’s smile got even bigger. “And a little cocky.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
The vapor was thick enough. Akos grabbed the hook with the wooden handle that hung next to the stove, and attached it to the kettle. It caught, and locked in place as he poured water in each of the mugs. Isae came forward for one, standing on tiptoe so she could whisper in his ear.
“If it hasn’t already, it should be dawning on you right about now that your girl and your mother are very similar people,” she said. “I will pause as that irrefutable fact chills you to the core.”
Akos eyed her. “Was that humor, Chancellor?”
“On occasion, I have been known to make a humorous remark. "

― Veronica Roth , Carve the Mark (Carve the Mark, #1)