Darkest Sins (Perfectly Imperfect, #9)

by Neva Altaj

Time is a tricky thing. Hours. Days. Years. The human brain has a limited capacity for storing information, and, as time passes, slowly and without notion, it forgets things. Sounds. Smells. Words. Situations. Memories peel off and are swept away by the winds of time, like dried leaves fluttering on the breeze just before the onset of winter. And when the spring arrives, the only thing left is a vague awareness of their past existence. Time.

Some cultures believe that the souls of the dead stay in this world and follow the person who ended their life for all eternity. Haunting them. He’s welcome to join the army already at my back.