Homecoming

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For Joelle Hobeika, whose imagination brings stories to life and makes crazy dreams come true.

And for Annie Stone, editor extraordinaire.

Glass’s hands were sticky with her mother’s blood. The realization came to her slowly, as if through a thick haze—as if the hands belonged to someone else, and the blood was part of a nightmare. But they were her hands, and the blood was real.

Glass could feel her right palm sticking to the arm of her seat in the first row of the dropship. And she could feel someone squeezing her left hand, hard. It was Luke. He hadn’t let go ever since he’d pulled Glass away from her mother’s body and carried her to her seat. His fingers were grasping hers so tightly he might’ve been trying to siphon the pulsing pain out of her body and store it in his.

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