While the Dark Remains (The Winter Dark, #1)

by Joanna Ruth Meyer

I look at him, and I don’t understand how he is so . . . so very human. So very mortal. A monster cannot become a man, but a man can become a monster, and perhaps that’s what makes humanity so frightening: You cannot tell, just by looking, who is monstrous, and who is not.

I mean to protest. I mean to ask him why he’s here and how he found us, if what he said to me all those years ago was true. I mean to shout at him and tell him I missed him and dig our deck of cards out of the pack and demand he explain all those evenings we spent together if he really didn’t count me as his friend.

“One person’s pain does not negate another’s,” says the Yellow Lord quietly, reading my thoughts. “I have been down here longer, but that doesn’t make your experience meaningless. You have been hurt. Deeply. Haven’t you?”