Waking up to my sin
The orange glow of the burning oil slick on the water’s surface was the only light left in the universe, reflecting off the falling rain like a curtain of liquid fire.
"Malakai," I whispered, but the name didn't sound like a word. It felt like ash in my mouth, a dry, bitter residue of a life that had just been vaporized.
I waited. I counted the seconds by the frantic, thudding rhythm of the pulse in my ears. I waited for him to surface. I waited for the "Beast" to rise from the churning Atlantic waves, gasping and triumphant, shaking the seawater from his hair with that arrogant, lethal grin. He always survived. He was the man who had outrun the Vanes, outfought the "Cleaners," and outlast