Golden Son (Red Rising Saga, #2)

by Pierce Brown

wrapping the glass and stone like the fingers of greedy bachelors around the wrist of a rich widow.

floating in the bitter storm like the ugliest angel ever shit out of heaven.

That was what life was supposed to be. Family. First loves. Not falling through atmosphere where killers care for nothing more than to fill your body with hot metal before moving on to kill your friends.

Modern war is fearing the air, the shadows, fearing the silence. Death will come and I won’t even see it.

And what is the bloodydamn point of surviving in this cold world if I run from the only warmth it has to offer?

The brightest minds enslaved to an economy that demanded toys instead of space exploration or technologies that could revolutionize our race. They created robots, neutering the work ethic of mankind, creating generations of entitled locusts. Countries hoarded their resources, suspicious of one another. There grew to be twenty different factions with nuclear weapons. Twenty—each ruled by greed or zealotry.