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People died. Their hearts stopped. The breath rattled from their lips, and the light went out. It wasn’t like a car stalling or a bulb flickering, though it was, in a way. Movement, motion, presence . . . and then nothing.
“I hate politics. And politicians.”
Her skin was as buttery and poreless as whipped cream. He thought briefly that it might simply be her youth, and then had to remind himself that she was the same age he’d been when they met. When they’d met, he’d already been to war and back again. He’d already outlived his children and left his wife.
Malone didn’t know which was worse—to escape and return or to constantly remember.
“No. Not things I don’t mean. Things I shouldn’t say.”
“Just because it doesn’t make sense to you, doesn’t mean it doesn’t make sense,”
Maybe that’s why he didn’t do it. Transformation could be frightening.
he might seem so on the surface, but he clung to the order of his faith, to the anchor it gave his feet upon a path. He needed it.
not feeling a damn thing sounded peaceful. It sounded right.
The thought had filled him with euphoria.
Dani Flanagan didn’t know it, but she’d saved his life.
