Prologue Sebastian Plato was bad news. Dark hair the wrong side of too long fell toward narrowed eyes the color of green glass; broken green glass. Glittering green glass. His tan was the kind Seattleites weren't supposed to have— a tan from the sun. The visible edges of his teeth were very white. His mouth had smiling corners. Corners that lied. Sebastian Plato didn't laugh. His green glass eyes didn't grow warm—ever. Stay away from that boy, every "nice" kid's parents warned. He's trouble. Bliss Winters whistled softly and focused on a worn silver belt buckle fashioned in the shape of a coiled snake. The snake's tail wound into a lazy S. The belt was a school legend. Bliss swallowed, and whistled some more. Her dry mouth and throat produced no sound. Did Sebastian Plato really do the things they said he did with that belt? Bliss sat a little straighter in her cafeteria chair, and frowned at her sandwich.