The Dead (The Wilds, #3)

by Donna Augustine

I was starting to think that maybe in this life, I was meant to be the walking and talking reminder of death. The Grim Reaper in the flesh. There were worse things to be, I figured—like dead.

Although when they said every cloud had a silver lining, they didn’t bother to elaborate that it was often lightning. I’d realized their wisdom left some leeway for interpretation.

he had the loudest silence of any person ever born.

Some people are made up of hopes and dreams, rainbows and sunshine. Dax was made up of hard, solid truths and immoveable boulders. It might not seem as pretty as fluffy white clouds in the sky, but when you leaned against a boulder, it didn’t shift out from underneath you.