Killman Creek (Stillhouse Lake, #2)

by Rachel Caine

A petty kind of power is still power.

When you sleep, you give up the choice to control memory.

It isn’t fair, or right, but it’s dreadfully human, the way we tear each other apart.

I’m too broken to be broken anymore.

But the past never leaves us. It’s in every breath, every cell, every second. I know that now.

I never knew you could want something this bad and still be afraid of it, too.

Nightmares aren’t frightening once you wake up. Memories are.