He opened his mouth. The words were there. He was about to say them when a jolt of terror went through him, the terror of someone who, wandering in a mist, pauses only to realise that they have stopped inches from the edge of a gaping abyss. The way she was looking at him – she could read what was in his eyes, he realised. It must have been written plainly there, like words on the page of a book. There had been no time, no chance, to hide it.Will, she whispered. Say something, Will.But there was nothing to say. There was only emptiness, as there had been before her. As there would always be.’I have lost everything’, Will thought. ‘Everything. ― Cassandra Clare

He opened his mouth. The words were there. He was about to say them when a jolt of terror went through him, the terror of someone who, wandering in a mist, pauses only to realise that they have stopped inches from the edge of a gaping abyss. The way she was looking at him – she could read what was in his eyes, he realised. It must have been written plainly there, like words on the page of a book. There had been no time, no chance, to hide it.Will, she whispered. Say something, Will.But there was nothing to say. There was only emptiness, as there had been before her. As there would always be.’I have lost everything’, Will thought. ‘Everything.
― Cassandra Clare

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