How he'd awoken in the middle of tall grass probably should've been his first question-but instead-Rhamuel simply wanted to know what time it was.

The rumbling engine of the big motor was loud enough to drown out her thoughts, and for once, Abranyah was glad for it.

To the forfeit wanderers and other wayward souls living in the scar: This is a poor excuse for a travel guide, confusing at best, but if you're still around to turn its pages, you're already used to such nonsense.

They arrived at dark, and it was the men on rooftop with loaded rifles that cemented Rhamuel's distaste for strangers.

Paper football or a rubber-band shootout did well to occupy those lulls in the night, but nothing passed the time quite like a gunshot victim.

Rhamuel inhaled deeply through his nose, and pondered the world.

Old Mother placed her hands in her lap, gestured to the wooden table at her side, and ordered the boy to practice a decision of fate.

An old man and a young man sat across from each other in a bar, locking stares with joy and fear, and the old man would be dead in seven minutes.

Grave robbing requires a corpse, so at most, this was all just simple thievery.