#bryde

"Parrish, that was fucked up," Ronan said. He laid a palm on Adam's pale cheek. It, too, was frigid. Adam turned his face into Ronan's hand, his eyes shuttered. "It saw me," Adam said. "Oh God." "What is it?" Adam didn't answer. Ronan bundled him close and for seceral minutes, the two of them stayed like that, tightly wound together, lit by the abandoned dreamt sun, Adam's skin cold as the moon. "It's not Bryde," Adam said finally. "The something, it's not Bryde." "How do you know?" Adam said, "Because whatever it is, it's afraid of him."