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Summary
Irina shot someone.
For the first time in her life, she held a gun—and she pulled the trigger. The bullet buried itself deep into his flesh. A living, breathing being. An alien. No, a person.
Then came the congratulatory pat on her back.
“Good job. You got one of Sully’s sons. Think he should be dead by now.”
A cold rush of dread swept through her. The voices around her faded, her knees buckled—and darkness swallowed her whole.
—
Irina Hawthorne was a murderer. She had killed Neteyam Sully. It was a truth she could never escape.
So why was she here now, in an alien body, watching over him as he slept—alive, breathing, untouched by the death she was certain she had dealt?
Bookmarked by Helpnousername
20 Apr 2025