“Every brittle, suppressed feeling I have erupts, splintering into a thousand shards that rupture my organs. I let my body go limp, and I crumple, curling up like a dying bug in the dirt. A low, raw keening hits my ears. It’s soft, barely audible, but it whines out of my throat with grating force. My nails dig into my forehead, then into my hair, as if I can dig my grief out by the roots. Lucky. Jaykob. Dom. Jasper. Beau. Dead.”
Book:Entangled