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678 pages, Paperback
First published March 17, 2023
“The sea was a collector of things. It took things we cherished—most things we’d forgotten—and I still found myself drawn to her, unable to resist her call, needing to step into the graveyard of the lost, wild, and treasured.”
“She was the sun, who shone a light on me, making me question if she were gone, who would I be, and would I exist at all?
Without her, there would be no ears to hear me.
No fingers to touch me.
No lips to taste me.”
“Somehow, I’d found a hidden passage winding into the tomb he’d built around himself. Inside, Stone had a heart that wasn’t as black and cold as his eyes. He just didn’t know how to use it. His face was like a marble statue as we stared at each other. His breaths were quiet again, whispers through carved blue lips. He looked into my eyes, and each time he blinked his lashes splayed across his muted cheeks like soot.”
“ I feel like you and me are ashes,” I whispered, and Stone’s eyes were bloodshot when they swung to mine. I’d never seen them bloodshot before. Ink and blood. “We’re ashes,” I repeated. “We hold our shape until someone pokes at us. We last hundreds of years. We don’t dissolve or float; we sink, and oh, do we sink. But at the end of the day, we’re still ashes.”
”All this time, we kept rewriting our tragic story, desperate to change our bitter end. And what has saved us? Our hearts were so tangled it was hard to know who was holding who too tight. We have a love that outlasts love. Fate was never on our side, but we didn’t need it. Time stood in our way, so we created our time.”
” There’s more to me than this, I know, but there is no escape. Trauma has a way of tying knots with our bones. This is what happens when a woman has a mind she can’t use, a loyalty she’s forced to refuse. This is what happens when a woman’s oppressed, silenced, ridden of purpose. This is what happens, I want to scream. My rage has turned into crazy. My secret is so heavy, the things that would happen to me if I ever said it aloud. I hate them for what they did to her. I hate them for what they’re doing to me. But I hate myself more for this thing inside me, feeding me these thoughts I can’t control.”
” What’s the cure for heartbreak?” I asked. She looked up at me as she turned the page. “Poetry,” she replied. “And books. A lot of books.”


“Welcome to Weeping Hollow, where monsters called Heathens kill your friends, neighbors, and even children. A town where shadows appear in the middle of the night and murder you while you’re dreaming.”
“Here, on Bone Island, we were two people from two different worlds who found ourselves across the ocean in a lighthouse where secrets screamed to be kept, new stories to be collected like dust.”

