This book nearly killed me. I always say that, but I swear, this time I mean it. It’s not a sign I didn’t love the work—after all, books can’t hurt you unless you care about them. That’s how they get in—through the cracks that caring makes in us. This book nearly killed me because I cared. I cared so much about Kate and August, and telling their story. I knew from the start it wouldn’t be a happy one. Hopeful, yes, but in a world with places like Verity, even hopeful endings come at a cost. This book cost me something, but it didn’t kill me, because of those I had at my side.
