ana
my to collect my final records. It was a formality
, suspended in the lu
ere we'd once hidden during a sudden downpour y
ng pictures
irected her, his voice patient,
ing my phone away whenever I tried to capture a m
years ago, our futures stretching out before us like an
he grass, and walked toward the edge of the camp
ere, its branches heavy w
lopsided heart with 'J.
kids who thought they
The metal felt cold against my palm. I pressed t
my own initial was nothing but a jagged, ugly
you doing
ard their footsteps approaching, the
ngly sweet. "Jax, look. We
en, the rhythmic sound of metal cutting into wood. He was overwritin
t landed in the dir
oice laced with triumph. She bent down and picked up the ke
primal, white-hot rage I didn
ward and sho
nd shot out and grabbed my wrist, her nails digg
h the surface of
ungs. My clothes became a lead weight, dragging me down into the murky
on the bank. He
ul strokes cutting through the sur
econd, a flicker of ho
swam p
y to reach Catalina, who was staging a theatr
is arms, holding her
e shore started forw
the cold air. It wasn't dir
s no longer
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