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Comfort was the drug she hadn’t understood until it was too late and she was hooked on cups of tea and book-lined shelves, nights uninterrupted by the wail of sirens and the ceaseless churning of helicopters overhead. Her
She read paperbacks too, one after the next like she was chain-smoking—romance, science fiction, old pulp fantasy. All she wanted to do was sit, unbothered in a circle of lamplight, and live someone else’s life.
Alex did her best to look innocent, but she hadn’t had much practice.
That was the problem with love. It was hard to unlearn, no matter how harsh the lesson.
Why raise children on the promise of magic? Why create a want in them that can never be satisfied—for revelation, for transformation—and then set them adrift in a bleak, pragmatic world?
She’d never liked that phrase, diamond in the rough. All that meant was they had to cut you again and again to let the light in.
That was all there was in this world. No heroes or villains, just the people you’d brave the waves for, and the ones you’d let drown.
She was more beautiful than he remembered. No, that wasn’t true. It wasn’t that she had changed or that his vision had sharpened. He was just less afraid of her beauty now.