The Art of Revenge

I never asked for this power. Irene stared at the blank page in front of her, fingers trembling around the pencil. She could feel it—the weight of the choice she was about to make. One simple sketch. One line, one stroke, and someone would die. It wasn’t her fault. She never asked for the ability to draw the future. To see a person’s face and know they wouldn’t be around for much longer. It was a curse. A curse that had haunted her for as long as she could remember. But now? Now, someone had hired her to sketch Dave. And she couldn’t get his face out of her head. Dave was 21, tall, cool, and had that sleepy-eyed vibe that made you think he was always a step ahead. But there was more to him than his brooding looks. He wasn’t just a guy walking around, minding his own business. No, Dave was a vigilante. A man out for revenge. He was hunting down bad people—people who had gotten away with awful things—and making them pay. And now, for some reason, she had to be the one to draw him into existence. Here’s the thing though: The more Irene learned about him, the more she realized she didn’t want to draw his death. There was something about him—his mission, his anger, and maybe, just maybe, the way he made her feel that stopped her cold. But she knew the rule. Draw someone’s face, and they’re done. Could she really draw him and let fate take its course? Or would she risk everything to save him? In the game of life and death, there was no rulebook. But one thing was for sure: Irene had never been this tangled up in something so dangerous… or so complicated.