My grandfather was a pirate of another sort. When he was a young man he swindled a ship. Hired it to privateers. And earned a share of their spoils for his trouble. But he had an ambition for something fare greater than plunder — a desire to build something more permanent.
Most of my life I've been in and out of hospitals, and you know, just suicidal thoughts and notes, and...a lot of notes. Attempts, and meds, and therapy, and then I found Brakebills, and all that went away. I thought that...Did I do something brave to save my friends? Or did I finally find a way to kill myself?