The Strength of the Few (Hierarchy, #2)

by James Islington

THERE IS SOMETHING ABOUT WAKING FOR the first time after everything you know has fallen apart. A few beats of blissful, dark ignorance, the amnesia of sleep still in effect. Then the creeping memory of there being something wrong, though the specifics escape you. Confusion and denial as your mind searches unwillingly, hoping to find nothing, but deep down, knowing. Knowing. Then it all floods back. Shock as you lie there, trying to convince yourself that it was the conjuring of a restless night rather than memory. And finally, the demoralisation of acceptance. The gut-punch of reality. The understanding that you rise to face a new and uncertain normal, today.

“The oldest argument for doing something wrong is that everyone is doing it.

Grief never really leaves you, but at some point it becomes remembered rather than enveloping.