Luneshale Pass hielo

some men might find the unabated fire in silvertongue intriguing. that artful balance of power and flame, the game of keeping it stoked without feeling its indiscriminate bite. soto sees the fire for what it is, and knows the game always ends with one party pulling away scorched.

does she know how many dead girls he’s seen? girls who said the same thing, believed it earnestly, even — right until the hour their deaths were writ across the spoiled dirt, and their throats cut mid-wail. even now he can see disbelief widen their eyes, as that final knowing sank within them.

 he thinks it would be smarter to play stupid - to be dull and compliant, so that the brothers would never know of the hate flickering beneath her breast. so that they’d let their guard down enough, allowing silvertongue the appointed chance of slipping free while they slept.

she pulls away, but the perfume of juaréz’s cocktail lingers on her breath. no estará en mi pedido. ustedes chicas nunca lo divierten mucho.