#Chapter52
Blake's P.O.V
Isaac Reid looked at me in a way that made it clear that for whatever we now were, friendship held no place; his eyes were fire in water, if such a thing could be imagined.
He was still angry. It had been the most obvious observation upon meeting up with him. His rage was a silent warrior that echoed through the air with deafening taciturn. It charged the air between us.
We sat without a word. The small, hillside park, after Isaac had scared off two younger kids, was vacant. Twilight had approached on a steady horse, and zigzags of pink now cracked apart the sky like a leaky egg, creating a tentative war between the closing day and approaching night.
And yet neither of us tried to take the first word. The swings beneath us, the same ones we had swung on as kids as we tried to go high enough to swing right over the bars or backflip off, they lacked any sense of joy.
