The Stand-In Luna
Death was too good a punishment for him.
But instead of throwing it away, like I had thought he would, Lucas lifted it to his mouth. His eyes locked with mine, defiance burning through the pain, and he drank.
The silver salt burned him from the inside out. His body convulsed, smoke rising from his lips, and in moments he collapsed, lifeless, the vial rolling from his hand.
A horn blew.
Lucas’s last words rattled through my skull as his voice echoed weakly, a final whisper before death claimed him:
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