Kerrigan Byrne

The ghost of a boy long dead, and yet who lived on. Perhaps not in name, or perhaps in name only.

Argent’s cold, blue eyes narrowed. “By all means, let them eat cake.”

Blackwell and Argent shared a look. “No one should have had to do what we did to get where we are.”

"Don't say anything just yet," Haina murmurs in my ear, and then nuzzles it again. "Praxiians have good hearing and we want to make sure he buys what we're selling."

If he buys it? Heck, I've bought it, too.