Extraits

The legend they tell about us goes something like this:

First, you'll see a streak of silver across the sky, like a comet burning through the fog.

Then, the clock hands will still halfway between this second and the next.

The world will fall silent, and the Reaper will knock three times on your bedroom door.

Whether you answer or not, Death will enter through the light in the keyhole.

She will reach down you throat and pull your soul out from deep, deep inside you, like an endless length of rope, and you will die in a world entirely your own. There will be no one but you, and the Reaper, and her unblinking green eyes.

But, of course, urban legends are rarely ever true.

“Are you injured?" I said, looking down at Hiro's foot.

He let out a sharp laugh. "Not recently, no. I sustained a severe cut on Tuesday, though, and I'll have you know I didn't even cry.”

When you have enough souls in one place, suffering is inevitable.

Why am I the only one with no say in who I am?