Maybe this is what an Argent bloodline really feels like.
The thought drifted past without anchoring. The famous Argent legacy. It didn't curse the people who carried it. It just made them precious enough to be worth destroying.
The first bag began to fill, slow and dark, a deep red blooming inside the clear plastic.
I closed my eyes.
Ronald rose first behind my lids. The coffee he handed me every morning. The kiss he used to press to my temple. The way he'd work the knot between my shoulder blades when I came home tense, his hands patient, attentive, perfect.
I'd thought that was love.
The second bag began to fill.
Thomas, then. I was eight years old, waiting at the door for him to come home from work. My mother sat in the soft light of the lamp, smiling at me. Rebecca grumbled in
