I sat in a daze the next morning.
No snarky remarks. Not even many words.
There was blackness and a fracture and a huge ass identity crisis happening within me.
The death Six and the Killing Corps dealt was real. It was rivers of blood and piles of bodies.
And I was a part of it.
I’d added a drop to the bucket that overflowed with red.
Lacey was a different person from Paisley, and the lines between them were no longer blurred by obscurity. It was hard and absolute, and cracked, because I cracked. Because I saw for the first time what I had become. The difference between Lacey and Paisley.
Lacey was a role I played, not the real me, but somehow I’d forgotten. Nothing of the last two months had been my life. The way I looked, the clothes I wore, the way I traveled, or the company I k
