Max Edison sank to his knees in the dirt of the forest, tears pouring down his face, and screamed again. Even though his throat was sore and dry, he screamed. He screamed hard enough that the pain from his throat almost rivaled the pain in his mind.

Almost.

Max screamed at the trees above him, and at the rain washing over his face. He screamed at her. The memory of what she’d done to him. Then he pounded his fist into the earth, leaving a three-inch hole in the mud.

Everything was gone. He lost everything.

She cost him everything. They did. All of them. The world was nothing but a living hell, and he couldn’t be bothered to deal with it any longer.

Wait. No.

He couldn’t go. Not yet. At least in this hell, he could still fight. He wasn’t ready to give up.

Max dug his fingers into the ground and clenched his fist in rage.

I’m not done. Not yet. Not until I get even.

And I will get even.