“I know…” Xander stammers for the words. “I know it feels like it never will be.” I lift my anguished gaze to my seventeen-year-old brother. Xander Hale isn’t a supernova in my sky. He’s not Eliot or Tom or even Moffy. He’s my little brother who was stuck inside a decrepit, often dusty and darkened castle, and if anyone knows the roadmap out of that awful place, it’d be him.
PLEASE I LOVE XANDER SUMMERS HALE SO MUCH
