Callum Nova személy

„Not to feed into your whole ‘nobody cares’ thing, but I really don’t give a shit about you.”

“And it’s not going to be me or you, so—”
“Who says it won’t be you?” Reina muttered. “We picked you last time.”

“Fine,” growled Tristan. “I can see through illusions.”
Immediately, Libby's hand rose somewhere to her cheek and Tristan sighed.
“Yes, I can see it,” he said. “It's just a zit. Relax.”
Then Tristan's attention traveled slowly back to Callum, who stiffened in apprehension. Delightful, Reina thought. The only thing better would be if Tristan informed them that wasn't Parisa's real nose.

“You are forever haunted,” Atlas said again, “by the moment you saw death all around you, and you chose to stay alive.”

“I feel,” he said, blue eyes meeting Tristan’s. “I feel immensely. But I must, by necessity, do it differently than other people.”

“At least tell me,” Tristan sighed, “that you can recognize the significance of what’s happening here.”
“Recognize it? Yes, certainly. An enormous magical event,” Callum confirmed, “which will soon be swallowed up by some other enormous magical event.” That was how all of science worked, anyway. They were all pieces of some other eventual thing. The atom was part of the atomic bomb. Cataclysm, carnage, world wars, subprime mortgage lending, bank bailouts. In Callum’s mind, human history was interesting because of humans, not science. Because humans were idiots who turned the elements of life into a weapon.

IV: SPACE