After her parents left, she’d never really fit in anywhere, not in school and not now and certainly not after she changed and became Quicksilver. She was a loner because she’d always felt alone and now, she seriously wondered if her efforts to survive had pushed her over the edge into madness. I should’ve done the world a favor and accepted it all, everything Carlos and Carol did. I should’ve died. I must have deserved it. Maybe that’s why my parents left and stopped writing. They knew I’d grow up to be a psycho who’d put her own survival ahead of everything—and everyone—else. Her hands clenched, the nails biting into the soft flesh of her palms. The pain didn’t stop her from hearing Kethan’s voice repeating in an endless loop inside her head. If she’d been less selfish, a better person, she’d have talked to the vampire pair and convinced them to let her go. They’d be alive today, basking in the moonlight, and picking at chicken mole, mole poblano, in a quaint café in Mexico City as they waited for their next victim.
