SEVENTY-EIGHT
He pulls himself up onto the roof and walks over to me, so steadily. Calm, like there’s nothing in the world we’d planned to do today but to stand here, together, looking out over a field of dead bodies and happy children.
“Aaron,” I whisper.
He pulls me into his arms.
And I fall.
Every bone, every muscle, every nerve in my body comes undone at his touch and I cling to him, holding on for dear life.
“You know,” he whispers, his lips at my ear, “the whole world will be coming for us now.”
I lean back. Look into his eyes.
“I can’t wait to watch them try.”
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