The thing about danger is, it always has a face. It chooses whether to show it to you or not. “Go on—come out,” I whispered. “Why delay the big reveal?” There’s something you should know about me, that I’ve come to learn, that I should probably tell you now, so the rest of this makes sense. Seems I’m the type to pick at a scab until it bleeds, then peel back the skin to see what’s underneath. The kind of curious that invites self-destruction.
