"Luke moved as silently as fog, while Maryse's heels sounded like gunshots on the marble floor. Clary wondered if Isabelle's propensity for unsuitable footwear was genetic."

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"Kent?" I say, and my voice seems to have to rise from inside the fog, taking forever to get from my brain to my mouth. "Yeah?" "Promise you'll stay here with me?" I say. "I promise," he whispers.

— Lauren Oliver