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Better to join a ghost than to be haunted by them. Better no life than an empty one—
people were like machines. They broke down. They rattled. They could burn you or maim you if you weren’t careful.
He was an easy man to figure, one of those who had grown old everywhere but in his heart, that one organ he had never worn out because he’d never dared to use it.
Killing a man should be harder than waving a length of pipe in their direction. It should take long enough for one’s conscience to get in the way.
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“It means we can’t change what’s already happened, but we can have an impact on what happens next.”
“We can’t control where we are right now,” he mumbled, “just what we do going forward.”
It turned out that some crooked things looked even worse when straightened. Some tangled knots only made sense once unraveled.
Juliette had promised herself never to love in secret again, never to love at all. And somehow this time was worse: she had kept it a secret even from him. Even from herself.
