Nothing hurts more deeply than the hollow look on Maven’s face. “Was anything true?” When he shakes his head, I know that is also a lie. “Even Thomas?” The boy at the war front, the boy who died fighting someone else’s war. His name was Thomas and I saw him die. The name punches through his mask, cracking the facade of cool indifference, but isn’t enough. He shrugs off the name and the pain it causes him. “Another dead boy. He makes no difference.” “He makes all the difference,” I whisper to myself. “I think it’s time to say your good-byes, Maven,” Elara cuts in, putting a white hand on her
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