" Let’s go to the festival,” he said. He was too thin, I thought. There were shadows under his cheekbones where flesh should have been, in a face so young. “No Ryzek. Just you and me.”
I stared down at his upturned palm. He offered touch to me so freely, without realizing how rare it was. How rare he was, to a person like me.
“Why?” I said.
“What?”
“You’ve been nice to me recently.” I furrowed my brow. “You’re being nice to me now. Why? What’s in it for you?”
“Growing up here really has warped you, hasn’t it?”
“Growing up here,” I clarified, “has made me see the truth about people.”
He sighed, like he disagreed with me but didn’t want to bother to argue. He sighed that way a lot. “We spend a lot of time together, Cyra. Being nice is a matter of survival.”
“I’ll be recognized. The currentshadows are memorable, even if my face is not.”
“You won’t have any currentshadows. You’ll be with me.” He cocked his head to the side. “Or are you really that uncomfortable with touching me?”
It was a challenge. And maybe a manipulation. "

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