“My lips pursed in thought. I did have something resembling a strategy, but it was not close to polished, or safe. “It is makeshift at best,” I answered, glancing through the brush toward the duct. The black hole in the side reminded me of a deep, gaping wound that would never heal, a mortal injury that bled darkness into the sunlit morning.” – Nightingale, Chapter 18

About melissamickelsen

Melissa Mickelsen wrote her first book at age fourteen when she discovered that writing was just as fun as reading. After earning a master’s degree in technical communication, she worked in Germany writing and designing newsletters for a nonprofit organization. As a military spouse, Melissa lives with her husband and their two children wherever the government sends them. You can visit her website at
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