Chapter 63

• Dante
• The cold was different here. It didn’t just nip at the skin, it settled deeply in the bones, making a home between the ribs. I waited under the rusted skeleton of the old train depot, where the tracks stopped but stories never did. The night held its breath, the kind of silence that used to mean something.
• I lit a cigarette to keep my hands from twitching. The flame flared against the wind, then faded into a dull glow. She wouldn’t come. I knew it. I’d pushed too far. She didn’t trust me, not with her name, not with her face.