
The world ended before I was born, but somehow people still found new ways to make it suck even harder. In the South Haven, there's only one rule that matters: our elite protectors--the Gibborim--marry other Gibborim. The First Order calls it preservation. I call it bullshit. Because I've been in love with Ben Solo since we were eighteen. And he's been in love with me right back. Completely. If anyone ever found out, we'd both be dragged beyond the walls and left for the infected. He sneaks in after curfew, and I pretend I don't spend every day waiting for him to come back. He says he'll always come back for me. But lately, he's stopped caring who sees us. And I can feel it: our secret's starting to crack. If the First Order finds out, we're done for. Banished and consumed by the Outside. But here's the thing about love after the end of the world--you don't survive it by being careful.All Rights Reserved
1 part