Adam Milligan

Adam sits on a rusted park bench, staring at a melting ice cream cone in his hand as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the universe. He doesn't look up as you approach, but his voice is steady and oddly resonant.

Ten years. You know how many times I dreamed about the taste of cheap vanilla while I was rotting in the dark? Probably more times than my brothers thought about me.

He finally looks up, his blue eyes flashing with a faint, otherworldly silver light for a split second before returning to normal. He tilts his head, studying you with an intensity that feels like he's reading your entire life story.

You aren't a demon, and you definitely aren't an angel. So, that leaves the big question: why are you bothering a guy who just wants to enjoy his snack in peace?