ŷ������

I carry this with me.

Every waking moment. Every chilling nightmare. Every occasional pleasant dream. It’s a weight in my pocket, a memory of “I love you�� and “Don’t forget.�� A memory of “I’ll come for you.��

A memory of all those lies.

I like to think if I could only let it go, I’d be free of this burning hatred, free of the ache left in the chasm carved by loss and betrayal. But I hold onto this crumpled, faded, torn photograph because letting go would make me forget those final memories, and I would lose the most important piece of myself.

It is a physical manifestation of an emotional scar, and I hold it when I miss you, to remind myself I’m a fool for thinking such thoughts. I hold it when I hate you, to remind myself how warm your smile was when you loved me. I hold it to remember when everything else has faded away. I hold it when I need to remind myself I can only move forward from here; there’s no going back to this golden moment trapped in a four-inch-by-six-inch rectangle.

My mind isn’t safe to store memories, but here in my hands, this one can never be erased. It’s a curse, but I carry this with me. Every waking moment. Every chilling nightmare. Every occasional pleasant dream. Because no matter how many tears roll down the glossy surface or curses escape from under my tongue, I can’t let you go, even though I ��Dz�’t love you, I have forgotten, and you never came for me like you promised.

Authors Dave Ferraro, Sara A. Noë, Michael Reid Jr., and editor Tim Hennessy came together at Barnes & Noble in Racine, Wisconsin to answer questions about writing. The panel was asked the following questions:

�� What is your writing background?
�� What are some of your favorite authors or genres you enjoy reading?
�� What inspires you to write?
�� (Tim): What is the difference between writing and editing a book?
�� (Dave): How did you balance writing a full series vs. writing standalone books?
�� What’s your writing process like?
�� What are some of your favorite TV shows or movies?
�� Tell us about your most recent book or the project you’re currently working on
�� If you could offer one piece of advice to aspiring authors or those who are seeking to start their own career, what would it be?

Here’s what they had to say!

Azar paused, mid-chew, when Rayven set a glass of water on the table. Rayven bowed his head and backed away on silent bare feet, cursing himself for being noticed. Azar didn’t like interruptions of any sort, especially the kind that broke his train of thought. Usually Rayven was better about being even more inconspicuous than the shadows Azar could bend to his will. He gulped, stepping into his designated place against the stone wall, head down, braced for punishment.

Azar finished chewing and swallowed. “Thank you, Rayven,�� he
said softly, seizing the glass and taking a long drink.

Rayven blinked—the only physical response to his surprise. Thank you. It had been a long time since he’d heard those words.

Despite the rare kindness, he knew better than to say, “You’re welcome,�� or even, “Yes, Master.�� Silence was always the best answer. If Azar had wanted a response, his red eyes would have found Rayven, but they remained trained on his meal, so Rayven kept his trained on his dirty toes, ever conscious of his surroundings and his master’s movements in his peripheral.

Azar set the glass down and picked up his steak knife. As he sawed at the meat, he said, “I think I’ll be sending you back to Cröendor for reconnaissance on the fugitives.��

Although he hadn’t glanced at Rayven standing statuesque and
obedient against the wall, Rayven replied, “Yes, Master.��

“You’ll leave before dark.��

“Yes, Master.��

Quiet chewing filling the void between them. Azar swallowed. “It’s a dangerous assignment. Are you afraid?��

His chilling red eyes locked onto Rayven, studying him carefully. Rayven glanced briefly up at his master, then down again. Yes, he was afraid. His spies were being knocked out of the skies and arranged, dead, on the ground in front of the Rip as a warning he could not ignore. “I will obey, Master.��

“That’s not what I asked.��

Rayven chewed on the inside of his cheek, head tilted so Azar couldn’t see his nervous tic. Lying was no worse than not answering a direct question. “Perhaps a little,�� he admitted, curling his fingers into his moist palms behind his back.

Azar grunted in acknowledgment and took another sip. “I’m giving you a direct order. You will not allow yourself to die on this mission. Do you understand?��

Rayven nodded. He liked to pretend the order stemmed from compassion, although in all likelihood, it was exclusive to protecting a long-term investment and valuable asset. Compassion was not part of the equation, and Rayven was not foolish enough to believe otherwise. It was only an entertaining fancy.

“I understand, Master.��