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“Manuel Blanco,” he introduces himself, voice smooth and crisp. I can visualize it coming out of his mouth, like a cloud of smoke. “I’m the Warden.”
“O’Malley and Kang like to scrap, but they’ll only start something with you if they’re on edge or cornered. And Ren…” His voice trails before he huffs. “I wouldn’t tell him anything personal about yourself. And definitely don’t make any deals with him.”
The Carver. Felix Darcey, known to the outside world as The Carver thanks to the media, is an infamous serial killer. He was all over the news a couple years back when he was allegedly killed by police during an attempt to arrest him.
My mind is spiraling, spinning and warping until I can barely breathe. I can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t anymore.
But Dascha Reznikov isn’t just a man. He’s a gift. A perfectly broken specimen sent from the heavens. Dented and dinged-up, and yet still so lovely.
His mind is broken, and either he’s made his peace with it, or he’s blissfully unaware. But either way, he doesn’t shy away from the cavernous empty space inside himself.
Maybe we’re two mangled, jagged pieces who could click together, despite all the fires burning around us.
I start walking away but Darcey’s voice catches me. “Dash…” I turn over my shoulder. “Just because we’re broken, it doesn’t mean we need them to put us back together.”
“We could what?” I plead for his words. “We could… run away,” his voice is hushed with trepidation before he breathes, “Together.”
“I um… I kind of like you, Officer Kemper,”
