Let the Sky Fall: 1 (Skyfall Trilogy) - Hardcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Shannon Messenger graduated from the USC School of Cinematic Arts, where she learned—among other things—that she liked watching movies much better than making them. She studied art, screenwriting, and television production but realized her real passion was writing for kids and teens. She’s the internationally, New York Times, and USA TODAY bestselling author of the award-winning middle grade series Keeper of the Lost Cities, as well as the Sky Fall young adult series. Her books have been featured on multiple state reading lists, published in numerous countries, and translated into many languages. She lives in Southern California with her family and an embarrassing number of cats. Find her online at ShannonMessenger.com and @SW_Messenger on Instagram, X, and Facebook.

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Let the Sky Fall

CHAPTER 1

VANE

I’m lucky to be alive.

At least, that’s what everybody keeps telling me.

The reporter from the local newspaper even had the nerve to call it a miracle. I was “Vane Weston: The Miracle Child.” Like the police finding me unconscious in a pile of rubble was part of some grand universal plan.

“Family Survives Tornado”—now, that would’ve been a miracle. But trust me, there’s nothing “miraculous” about being orphaned at seven years old.

It’s not that I’m not grateful to be alive. I am. I get that I shouldn’t have survived. But that’s the worst part about being “The Miracle Child.”

The question.

The same inescapable question, plaguing me for the last ten years of my life.

How?

How could I get sucked in by a category-five tornado—nature’s equivalent of a giant blender—get carried over four miles before the massive funnel spit me back out, and only have a few cuts and bruises to show for it? How was that possible, when my parents’ bodies were found almost unrecognizable?

The police don’t know.

Scientists don’t know.

So they all turn to me for the answer.

But I have no freaking idea.

I can’t remember it. That day. My past. Anything.

Well, I can’t remember anything useful.

I remember fear.

I remember wind.

And then . . . a giant, blank space. Like all my memories were knocked out of my head when I hit the ground.

Except one.

One isolated memory—and I’m not even sure if it is a memory, or if it’s some strange hallucination my traumatized brain cooked up.

A face, watching me through the chaos of the storm.

A girl. Dark hair. Darker eyes. A single tear streaks down her cheek. Then a chilly breeze whisks her away.

She’s haunted my dreams ever since.