chapter 1 ~ the end
If I lived a thousand lives, I think I’d still never know the formula.
He groused mildly to himself. It was morning, near first light. When the promise of magic teases and somehow never arrives. But today it might, Holden thought to himself as he glanced into the ombre white-grey-blue of the sky, flecked with ribbons of early morning pink. There was little of such promise represented in the backpack he busied himself with stuffing. Grey. Mostly grey. And black. Alot of torn. Much worn around the edges. Even worn out right smack in the thick of things. He smiled, half amused by this. A hopeless romantic.