The Moreau boy shuffles on his feet beside me. Someone has wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and he clutches it with both hands, eyes locked towards his friend. I blink, scratching my head. Only now contemplating the strangeness of his appearance among us. I left him at the border days ago. How the hell is he here? How the hell did he get here? I go to ask him. And then I stop, remembering his secrets, remembering all his secrets. He loves Rhianna too. Loves my mate. Or is it more than that? Is this strange fucked-up tangle of fate more twisted, more perverted, more damn complicated than
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