PROLOGUE
KILLIAN
The harsh scent of antiseptic makes my nose itch.
Why do hospitals smell like this? Clove and methanol, with the slightest tang of metal. It’s the chemical concoction of death, reminding patients of their limited time on this earth.
We could do with less of that.
The overhead fan cranks to life, the mechanical whirl churning overhead. My eyes follow the silver duct and narrow at the juncture. A place that should ease suffering, and the air conditioning unit needs to be changed?Classy.
Glancing back down, my ears catch the last of her rattling breath as it escapes free from her pale lips, and subconsciously, I exhale with her. My spirit chases her through the cracks of a worn hospital, like a lost duck following its mother; it refuses to be without her. It doesn’t want to be alone—not now, not in this cruel, cold world, where survival is never guaranteed.
Softly, I touch her cheek. It’s growing cold, and she offers me a small, sad smile. It’s as bright as any sun, full of warmth and love. What will it be like when she goes and takes that sun away? I’ve always fared better in the dark, but she’s been my light inthis world for so long. Without her, I have no family. Without her, I'll succumb to evil. Without her, I’m a decaying piece of flesh left to the sands of time, a rot on this planet.Alone.
The monitor blares, her eyes grow dull, and that thready pulse I’ve been watching goes flat.
The room stands still, not a tremor of movement, but that monitor wails as if it’s lost the only person it’s ever loved. And Jesusfuck, it’s loud.
Swallowing, I bite the inside of my cheek and stare at the yellow hair fanning across the stark white pillow. Lying here—still—is unlike her. She’s always in motion, always smiling, and laughing. More so now than she ever did in that house.
Because staying still meant we weren’t safe. We’d be found and killed—maybe worse. There’s a nervous energy coiling in my gut from seeing her motionless body, because my young brain knows, being still is dangerous.
My throat closes in—my ratty clothes are too tight. My skin is too constricting. I want to claw it off, be free of this pressure, andrun.
Is this grief? This crushing sensation that feels as if Hell has taken me back under the ground, forced me to eat rocks and gravel until I’m shaking, and tasting blood?
And that fucking monitor continues its shrill cry. How can anyone ignore it?
My fingers tremble, and I fight back the urge to bolt as I smooth the edges of her hair, memorizing the last bit of warmth and the faint floral perfume clinging to her. We’ve spent months on the run, and still, it surrounds her. I inhale, forcing myself to memorize the sweet peony, the sharp jasmine. I don’t know when I’ll smell it again.
Her eyes are open, staring at the ceiling. I close them, nail beds grimy, and mentally file away the color. They’re thebrightest blue, a natural beauty that no artist will ever be able to recreate.
My eyes trace the sharp cheekbones, her bow-arched lips, to the light brows. We share the same face—cut angles, upturned nose—but she has freckles on the bridge of hers. I wish we shared those too—another piece I can keep, examining in the mirror late at night, when all I want to see is my mother’s face.
I’d rather look at her than see the sins that stain mine, but that’s not really a choice anymore.
Clearing my throat, I focus on the urge to flee. I know if he finds me, he’ll drag me back. Force me into that closet, force me back into that hole again. Without my mother to buffer him, I’ll be at his mercy.
I’m not going back.
But I can’t leave her. She’s alone in this room of impersonal niceties. Yet I know if I stay a moment longer, I riskeverything.
Come on. Wake up.
But she doesn’t. Because life fucking sucks.
A heavy hand falls on my shoulder, and I tense, the monitor still screaming in my ears. My heart rate climbshigher with each turn of its siren. “Are you alright, son?”
“Fine.” I need to go.
But how do you abandon your mother?
“Is there someone else to call?” he asks. He’s trying to be kind, but all he’s doing is pissing me off. There is no one to call. No one cares. “Maybe your father?”
Father. I scoff, jerking away from him. He’ll find out soon enough. He has eyes everywhere. I don’t need to alert him and tie my own noose. I need to stay away from him.
“No.”
