“Duty? Don’t tell me I don’t know duty. I know it like the back of my hand, like the breath of air from my lungs. I know it better than my own mother, and in the thick uncertainty of that dark room, I held on to it like a sharpened blade. The blood running through my fingers? Inconsequential.”

“Duty? Don’t tell me I don’t know duty. I know it like the back of my hand, like the breath of air from my lungs. I know it better than my own mother, and in the thick uncertainty of that dark room, I held on to it like a sharpened blade. The blood running through my fingers? Inconsequential.”

— K.S. Villoso