There are many things I never thought I'd find myself behind; the barrel of a gun is one of them.
I feel the tingle, the rush, as it slithers down my skin. I feel the cold.
Too many deaths—one of them will be the death of me.
Julian is determined to make me pay for someone else's sins. And I'm struggling not to succumb to his mercy, not to fall to my knees and beg.
But as my legs give in, as my muscles strain and my voice weakens, I keep the handle of my knife tight in my grip. My mother's suffering collides with mine as I use my last breath to take away the ones who stole hers.
I keep fighting. I keep killing. I keep hoping.
Even when ghosts are the only company I have left.
Even when he's the last thing I see.