I whip my head around and stumble to a stop at what I see. Every bit of his body is covered in blood. His hair is a mess of inky waves, sticky with sweat and streaked with blood. A thin blade is gripped between his fingers, his hand raised and ready to send it flying toward me. And something snaps into place at the sight of him. I’m suddenly back in my old home, hidden behind a cracked door as I watch a sword plunge into my father’s chest. The sword held by a boy with wavy black hair, a boy with gray eyes full of fear, a boy who just became a murderer.
