XLV | Six Feet Deep

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ANGEL


I FALL TO MY KNEES.

The gravel is sharp against my skin, but I don't even feel it. Not as the words sink, not as I process them. I am outside on the driveway, a gun in my hand. It clatters to the ground.

She's dead.

Cade is dead.

I fist my hands in the stones, and the blood that pricks my palms is sweet, hot. The entire world cracks around me like shards of glass.

Rivulets of red stream down my fingers. I lean my head into the cold stone of the gravel, and the darkness folds around me. The words that Dominic delivered ring in my ears, over and over, until I can see―hear―feel nothing.

She's dead.

She's dead.

She's dead.

In the distance, a violin plays.

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