Prologue

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I should have listened.

I should have stayed outside.

But the sound of silence was overwhelming. A mail courier walked by on the brownstone-lined street, yet I barely heard her steps through the hush of the trees, the absence of the birds. I felt frozen, weighed down under the watchful eyes of the squirrels, unmoving on their branches.

I'd never sensed such stillness and burden in the air.

When a gust of wind blasted me without warning, it shocked me, raw against my skin, and I couldn't help it.

I turned and ran, in through the door hanging precariously on broken hinges, past the shoes of all sizes lined up haphazardly in the hall, into the living room.

At first, I thought maybe there had been an accident with some paint. A home decorating project gone awry. But then, I saw the hand on the coffee table, severed fingers lined up so neatly, so carefully nearby. Hair in clumps, strewn about the floor, on the couches, on the-

Suddenly, the world was quiet no more. A high-pitched noise filled all my senses, piercing my ears. I closed my eyes against the sound and fell to my knees, clapping my hands over my ears. Trying to make it stop. Trying to shut out what I had seen.

But it was too late.

The piercing sound continued to build, and I knew I would never, ever be able to silence it. Because it was me. It was the sound of the person I'd been shattering, of something fragile inside me ripping apart into a thousand brittle pieces.

I was the one screaming. And nothing would ever be the same.



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