Why are you in my room?” “Because I can be.” “You shouldn’t be.” “Save it, Rochester. You broke my nose.” “Does it hurt?” He lifted a hand toward his face and dropped it. “You could say that.” “Good.” He nudged a tray on the floor with his boot. It had oatmeal, toast, and orange juice on it. “Hungry?” Honor’s stomach growled. “No.” Ryder’s lips turned up in a fleeting sadistic smile. He kicked the tray across the room. It hit the wall and overturned. “Good.

— Lindy Zart

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