Page 1 of Siccitas

Prologue

Dalton

Iwatch as she raisesthe cup of warm, chamomile tea to her full lips.

She’s different.

She doesn’t have the feral look in her eyes that the rest of them do.

At least, not the way I know thathewants.

There’s a peace dwelling within Jocelyn Greene, but it’s not as whole as she’s spent the past few weeks pretending it is.

“Thank you,” she says in her quiet tone, setting the chipped cup down on the cracked saucer, then placing it on the small side table next to her.

“I hope it’s decent,” I reply nervously as I wipe my sweaty palms against the thighs of my sleep pants. “I don’t know how long that box has been sitting there.”

“It’s fine.”

Okay.

She has a way about her when she communicates.

I’ve come to learn when conversations are over. Her responses become curt and damn near brittle.

When she wants to know more about something, she’ll use her eyes to extract the answer from me.

Hiseyes.

My eyes.

Our eyes,I think solemnly as I follow her gaze out the living room window.

She holds vigil there, but not like Hailey. She was sick, always holding her breath for a moment she knew would never come, but not Jocelyn.

She actuallyseesthe world outside.

One that’s far greater than the hell he created for all of them. The one where he ruled on a throne of misery and vitriol, where none of his children were good enough.

Except for one.

But Jocelyn doesn’t like to talk about Darby, and I don’t press her.

Some nights she still cries because she didn’t save her.

I can hear the soft whimpers through the thin walls of Hailey’s home.

“We have to get those kids out of the house,” she says, a heavy sigh punctuating her sentence. “I can’t ... not with them there.”

“I’ll do it,” I promise in a quiet tone.I have no fucking clue how I’ll convince them, but I’ll figure it out.

“Thank you,” she says again, letting her eyes drift up to mine.

I nod as I wipe the sweat from the palms of my hands and turn away. Shuffling the few steps to the couch across from where she sits, I drop onto the seat, lean my head back, and stare up at the cracked ceiling.

I smile.

I don’t mean to, but I can’t help it.

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