" I,” he said, slowly, “am a Thuvhesit, Cyra. I would never oppose my country, my home, if I felt like I had a choice.”
I closed my eyes. It hurt worse--much worse--than I was expecting it to.
He went on, “But my mother used to say, ‘Suffer the fate, for all else is delusion.’ There’s no point in fighting something that is inevitable.”
I forced my eyes open. “I don’t want to be something you ‘suffer.’”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said, reaching for me. I backed up. For once, the pain that wrapped around every limb was not a curse to me--though not a gift, never a gift--but another set of armor.
“You’re the one thing that makes my life bearable,” he said, and the sudden tension in him, suffusing every muscle, reminded me of how he had braced himself every time Vas came around. It was the way he looked when he was guarding himself against pain. “You’re this bright spot of light. You’re--Cyra, before I knew you, I thought about…”
I raised my eyebrows.
He drew a sharp breath. His gray eyes looked glassy.
“Before I knew you,” he began again, “I didn’t intend to live past rescuing my brother. I didn’t want to serve the Noavek family. I didn’t want to give my life to them. But when it’s you…it seems like whatever the end is, it might be worthwhile. "

― Veronica Roth , The Fates Divide (Carve the Mark, #2)