Words are _dangerous_.

Not in the way most things are— weapons draw blood and pain, whereas words draw emotion, _meaning_. For me, it was hurt that they drew. With just two simple syllables, I lost the one person who stayed.

“He’s dead.” I wasn’t sure if the words had come from me or someone else. The hospital reeked of death, sounded of sorrow. Even as unushed tears filled my eyes, they never strayed from the crumpled body of my brother. Zane’s scruffy blonde hair lay as limp as his pale limbs and the pristine hospital sheets contrasted sickeningly with the blood coating them.

A ringing in my ears grew louder than the flat-lined monitor.

“_No_, no, wake up Zane!” I trembled, my face contorting as sobs racked my body.

The doctor shot me a look of pity that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

I didn’t blame him, the whole of Millwood dispised my brother for what he’d done, or what they _thought_ he’d done. Everyone in town suspected him of murder, suspected that our father- the local sheriff and as wealthy as they got- bought his son out of the blame. Little did they know, I knew who really did it, and that _who_ delivered my brothers death as a mere threat.

I was the killer’s next target, but they were mine, and I would not let their deeds go unpunished. A primal sound tore from my throat as a kind of anguish settled over me.

_Grief _or_ revenge_. I chose _revenge_.

_To be continued…_