Hrida
In moments of sensory overload, Hrida's body did her a favor; her sensitive hearing would fade out until she viewed the world through a pane of soundproof glass. The explosion painted everything a horrific shade of neon, the yellows and reds too bright and harsh.
Beside her Tracey stood alone, teeth bared in grief, one hand clutching her wrist like it was the last thing she had left to hold onto.
Kol unfolded himself gradually, his eyes widening as he took in the scene around them. The scarred pavement, the empty windows blown free of glass, the rubble of the wrecked buildings. From here, Hrida wasn't sure, but a brief glimmer of emotion surfaced before his face hardened and he turned away.
Where's Derrick?
The feeling of someone's arms settling around her shoulders answered that question. All of a sudden, her own emotions came crashing in and she turned around, burying her face in his sweater. He didn't say a word, only stood there and held her, looking out over the shattered street as the fire slowly burned out.
YOU ARE READING
Sincerely, Vintage
Science FictionGears. Neon. Amber. Pigment. In a city broken apart by monsters and conflict, humans have managed to hollow out safe spaces for themselves. Among these people are four friends, each trying to find their own way to adjust to their new way of life. To...
