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“Let’s be clear. I am not a star. I am a comet—a ball of gas, rock, and debris camouflaged in a spray of light.” My gaze narrows as if she were a lowly grip on my set.
Survival is not heroic; it is ugly. All those things you would never do in a normal, moral, refined life is now your only way of life.
Funny, how war both entraps and frees you. What’s the point of niceties, manners, morals, and suppressed emotion when you could die at any given moment?
he was saved by the U.S. government, as part of its Operation Paperclip, a top secret intelligence program in which sixteen hundred high-ranking Nazi scientists, engineers, and technicians were rescued from Nazi Germany, their criminal pasts wiped clean, and given U.S. government employment after the war.
Aleksander’s revenge was living a life built with love, creating a family, a legacy, proving that those monsters couldn’t destroy all that was good. My path was the opposite.
built a meteoric career—rising so high that I could use my vantage point to topple those who destroyed everyone I loved. Our loss, the river of pain running through us, is the same. He chose love. I chose hate. Look at him, look at me.
Forbidden love tore us apart. And yet, it was a true love all the same. It was ours. Once.
What is the fine line between the pursuit of justice and the hunt for revenge? Is there an expiration date for avenging those you loved and lost?
