“You stopped.” I walk backward. “I didn’t want to run anymore.” He walks forward, toward me. “Why not?” Because he is to me what sharp objects are to fragile things. What a flame is to a moth. Destiny. We are destiny, Zach and I. We’re stars, aren’t we? You can’t run from destiny. You can’t outrun fate. You can’t stop a moth from perishing in flames and you can’t stop a sharp object from making a fragile thing bleed. “Because I don’t want to play games anymore.”
