Croft didn’t knock. He pushed the steel door open, letting a shard of frozen wind cut through the incense-smoke. Brock was standing over a table, his back to the door. He was sharpening a blade—not a knife, but a long, curved piece of bone he’d harvested from the last thing he’d put down. A night-gaunt that had been snatching livestock and, later, a toddler from a farm near Moab.
Then Croft’s knees buckled. He hit the floor with a soft, wet sound, right in the center of a dark, irregular stain that had not been there the day before. His cashmere coat soaked up the old blood. brock kniles
“Who’s that?” he asked.
Born on April 4, 1985, in Phoenix, Arizona, Kniles grew up with a love for baseball that rivaled his love for life itself. As a young boy, he would spend hours in his backyard, tossing pitches with his father and dreaming of one day playing in the big leagues. Those early years laid the foundation for a remarkable journey that would take him to the highest levels of the sport. Croft didn’t knock
The woman turned. Saw nothing. “Who’s who, sweetheart?” He was sharpening a blade—not a knife, but