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Summary
He couldn't stop thinking about how his hair seemed to glow, or how his irises practically had the sky printed onto them, or how those eyes of his—eyes that were filled with a visceral hate for the world and a fire fueled from pure survival instinct, eyes that were the textbook definition of "if looks could kill," eyes that had seen the worst of human depravity and were forced to go on—had shown, for just a second, something akin to hope. Something akin to innocence. Something pure.It was a look he wanted to see again.And to see that look, he needed to see that sky again....Here in the backstreets, the night sky's stars carried a special brilliance.
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