There Are No Saints (Sinners, #1)

by Sophie Lark

I’m engulfed in jealousy. Inflamed with it. It’s a bonfire all around me, and I’m a heretic tied to the stake, burning and burning and burning.

I keep hitting the model over and over and over again, beating it, rending it, destroying it. When at last the club falls from my numb hands, the solar model is nothing but a twisted ruin. Beyond recognition. Utterly destroyed. I loved that piece. Sometimes you have to kill what you love.