Washington Crossing Book Novels & Stories

His eyes raked over me, slow and shameless, lighting a fire in places I didn’t want to acknowledge. “Shall we?” he asked, motioning toward the exit like he was holding a leash. I should’ve slapped him. I should’ve screamed, run, torn the whole gallery down around us. But I didn’t. Because my feet—my traitorous, cowardly feet—moved. And I hated how easy it was. And Nathan Cross held the door open like the gentleman he wasn’t. He didn’t need to lock the cage. I was already inside. The car was too quiet.

“Run!!! Through there. Scale the wall. They’re closing in!!” Wails filled the air as they had grown tired; running for so long would take its toll on anyone most especially children. Some of us knew what we had done to deserve this, others didn’t. I know we don’t have much time but we can only try. Another one has fallen, another caught. Who will save us? HOSEA

(Vinnie here, he taught me to turn my pain into power. “Por favor, señora Cruz!” (Please, Mrs Cruz!) His eyes widened as the knife nicked at the skin slightly and a drop of blood rose to the surface. It wasn’t enough to cause any permanent damage, but it was enough to scare him. “¿Sabes lo poderosa que puede ser una mujer, dada la motivación correcta?” (Do you know how powerful a woman can be, given the right motivation?) I asked, tilting my head as I leaned closer to him. I tried to ignore the stench that emanated from him and focused on what I came here to do.

“Down at the crossing. Real trouble.” She followed, boots crunching grit, heartbeat surging at the prospect of a fresh adrenaline. The city had always run on simple principles—might, memory, and whoever was crazed enough to outlast the storm. But with each day under Carolina’s rule, the rules seemed less like scripture and more like a game that desperately needed breaking. The “crossing” was two blocks of no-man’s land where the old subway spat out into the surface. Briony waited by the crumbling mouth, one hand jammed in her pocket, the other clutching a battered radio against her shoulder.

And they're finally learning to cross it. End of Chapter 179

Ava’s POV Sleep was a stranger that night. I had tossed and turned until the moon itself had traveled halfway across the sky, the glow through my curtains mocking my exhaustion. My wolf stirred restlessly beneath my skin, as though aware of my turmoil but refusing to share its calm with me. Every breath in the dark felt stifling, every thought circling back to Diego, to Sage, to the chains of my family’s expectations. I finally pushed the covers off with a sigh and padded to my balcony doors. The air outside was cool and heavy with the faint scent of rain. The courtyard below looked peaceful, but peace was the last thing inside me.

Until, she subconsciously begins to slow. The pounding in the pavement softens, and her feet begin to slow to a walk. She stands before the green street sign. 'Florence Street,' it reads. The same street she remembered crossing the night before, the scene of the crime, so to speak. Hesitantly, she presses further down the street, her overactive mind once again craving answers. One foot carefully placed in front of the other until she is standing at the entrance to the park. The first thing she notices is the dark spot on the ground. It's long, and a shade of dark burgundy. Something crunches under her sneaker and she slowly lifts her leg to find glass. Actually, now that she looks around the

I want to hear everything. Then I opened my laptop, cursor blinking against the white screen, and started a new document. The title came easily this time. “Crossing the Line: When Love and Ambition Learn to Breathe Together.” I wrote the first line slowly, smiling to myself. Some stories don’t end when you close the chapter. They just learn how to keep going. That night, when Ethan’s face filled my screen — tired but smiling — I realized it wasn’t the distance that defined us anymore. It was the choice to keep showing up.

--- 11:25 AM — D Sector, Palehook Crossing The bridge was not new—but new-acknowledged. A weaving of polyroot crossing that curved but did not snap underfoot. Kids crossed it unhesitantly. The elders crossed it slowly, some for the first time in years. Elira crossed it carefully, hand tracing the balustrade. Caelan, on the opposite side, shouted, "Still certain about your weight?" "I'm counting on the threads," she shouted back, "and on the hands that bound them."

"How did this even happen?" "You see, there's a bridge in the way to the pack warrior residence," she said then I nodded. "I quickly reached the house, I found the book despite the very uncooperative people there and I was coming back as soon as possible! But... it was so tempting to walk over the railing of the bridge I couldn't help myself and when I started walking over it, I lost my balance and fell and then I got wet. But you can still read the book! You only have to dry it! Maybe with a drier, if you have a drier, or you can ask someone else to—" "Hazel," my voice cuts through her rant and animated gestures.