Control

After Timothy left my place to catch his flight to the District, I dig out the note Emilian gave me from my backpack.

Ohmygosh

This is when men’s word spells work the fastest—when I’m melting.

Talking to Myself

With every passing minute not knowing my grade, I die a little inside.

What Would You Do?

Each shake and shudder of Flight 817 invokes memories of her seven-year-old son’s toothy grin.