Blake's P.O.V

Isaac Reid looked at me in a way that made it clear that for whatever we now were, friendship held no place; his eyes were fire in water, if such a thing could be imagined.

He was still angry. It had been the most obvious observation upon meeting up with him. His rage was a silent warrior that echoed through the air with deafening taciturn. It charged the air between us.

We sat without a word. The small, hillside park, after Isaac had scared off two younger kids, was vacant. Twilight had approached on a steady horse, and zigzags of pink now cracked apart the sky like a...