PROLOGUE
Man dies of cold, not of darkness.
-Miguel de Unamuno
It was a long time before the first man spoke. The air around the scene turned sharp; razors cutting feeling to the bone. Everything was frozen, as if life itself could not handle the tenseness of the situation. Maybe unforgiving anger was better than this, screams and accusations easier than the cold, stony silence that shattered any peaceful relationship. The only thing active was their eyes, smoldering with fires of ever-growing hatred. The blame they placed was inlaid in their glare, accusing each other with the pain they must now live with.
Brigid was dead.
She had collapsed from one of the poisons, both men unassuming it would kill. Who killed her? One of the two. We'll never know who did it, who's poison tore her away, corroding her inside until her body failed to function.
The first man, he knew the truth: there was no good guy. Both killed her, and who specifically doesn't matter. The good guys in history are the survivors, who beat the other team. There is no good or bad. There's just Team A and B, and the mutual struggle for victory.
"No. No!" the first man cried, calling out.
The second didn't think; he acted. He pulled out his knife, aimed and threw. It was revenge, he concluded, not ruthless instinct. His heart was broken, just as the other's was stabbed.
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KILL
Teen FictionWhen Brigid dies, another life is taken. But now, the dead aren't staying dead, and Cam is back to bring his killer to justice. When he accidentally discovers the horrifying truth about why The People are coming back, he knows everyone must sleep ag...
