Three minutes can be an eternity. Forty-five breaths. One hundred and eighty seconds. Two hundred and ten heartbeats.
Angelina’s not worried about the letters anymore. She’s floating in the swimming pool leaking crimson ribbons that swirl like steeping tea.
He gets so sick of those people with their happy lives and their normal jobs on solid ground. He gets so angry when he’s seen by no one, moving state to state leaving no trace, Mr. Inconsequential mattering to nobody nowhere.
Javier stood at the starting line, concentrating on his breathing. He blocked out all the commotion around him. His focus was keener, sharper than at any other moment in his life. This was his time.
If there was one thing Cuthbert could not abide, it was helping yourself to something that wasn’t yours.