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So could we please not mob the three-thousand-plus-year-old reaper like tweens at a boy-band concert?

Rachel Vincent

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Rachel Vincent
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Careful, pot, Tod said. Someone might notice your resemblance to the kettle.
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Standing, I turned to face my father. “It’s the same as the scent on Moore. It’s definitely a foreign cat, but it’s...more, somehow.” Ethan snickered at my unintentional pun, but I ignored him.
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I liked that about her. I liked how laid back she was, when she wasn’t trying to stab me.
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