If his skin were warm, he’d be blinking melting snow out of his eyes. But he’s been living in the wind for so many months that his skin has taken on the temperature of the seasons. He ran away in a summer fever, high on the damage he’d caused and tipsy from the rush of how close he’d come. (Close to taking everything from Brendan and close to getting caught.)
Four months later his skin is cool and the snowflakes that rest on his eyelashes look like they’re there to stay. The icy weather is like a cool breeze to him—reinvigorating and relaxing at the same time. No “fires of passion,” no “heat of the moment.” Just chilled resolve and the calm of a man who has rededicated himself to his purpose in life.
Walker is back.