She’s confused at first, before she clings to my side when she notices the hearse parked in the shadow of night. Her hand slides around my bicep, a brand of heat through my sleeve, and I have to do a double-take to make sure the sensation is real. My heart gives a single, hard thud against my ribs, reminding me of its presence.
“The Grim Reaper drives a hearse,” she murmurs, her voice hushed. She frowns, shaking her head as if to dislodge the image. “Is he crazy?”
“One of the sanest out of us.” I rub the back of my neck, the lie of omission bitter on my tongue. I don’t tell her about his hobby of whispering the wrong cause of death to coroners, the way he treats human mortality like a private joke only he understands. That’s not crazy. It’s just… Grim.
The front door creaks open, and she flinches, her fingers digging into my arm. The skeleton man makes his appearance, all elongated shadows and stillness.
Most people react the same way, their eyes snagging on the sunken cheeks, the pits of his eyes that seem to swallow the light. But it’s his smile they find unsettling—a lipless stretch of skin over bone that never quite reaches his empty gaze.
“He’s a nice guy,” I say, the truth feeling flimsy in the face of his presence. Her grip doesn’t loosen. “Come on.”
“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” Grim’s voice is a dry rustle, like leaves on pavement. “Not a cloud in the sky. Perfect for a final journey.” His smile stretches as he drinks in Destiny’s appearance, his gaze lingering a moment too long on her features. “Ah, the red hair. The freckles. Makes sense now.”
While he hums at his own secret revelations, I’m frowning at her side. Not wanting him to reveal said thoughts, a flicker of anger blooms in my chest.
“Did you bring them?” She’s the one who speaks next, a surprising core of strength hardening her tone. “What I asked for?”
Slipping out of her hold, I flatten my hand against the small of her back instead. Feeling the fine tremor, the corded tension in her shoulders, I sweep my thumb in a slow, soothing arc. I want to absorb the shake, to draw the fear out of her and into me, where it can’t hurt her.
She looks up at me, and her eyes are welling with a universe of emotion—grief, fear, and for the first time,hope.Emotions I want to drown in, to soothe until only peace remains.
“Of course. I wouldn’t go so far out of my way to be empty-handed.” In a glide, he moves to the back of the hearse, his steps nothing but unnerving, yet silent and graceful.
He returns, his long, pale fingers cradling two urns like sacred relics. There’s no denying the wave of relief that washes over Destiny’s face as he hands them to her. It’s about as much closure as she can get in her shoes, and the sight of it cracks something open in my chest.
He hands them off, his attention slithering back to me. “I was expecting more difficulty,” he starts, his smile tightening into something more like a rictus snarl as he accepts my cash.
“That entire town is overrun by vermin. Yet, not a single one of their force stopped to ask what I was doing at such a… delicate scene. To think I’d gone through the effort of preparing such delightful excuses.” He tsks, a sound of genuine disappointment. “A wasted opportunity for art.”
Grunting, my attention floats back to Destiny, the way it always does. She’s cradling the urns, her face a mask of pained love, and a protective, fierce ache blooms under my sternum.
I don’t just want to touch her. I want her to be whole. I want her to look at me and see a future, not just a shield. I want her to want my shoulder to lean on, my bed to sleep in, my life to share.
It’s a realisation that makes the ground feel less stable, ready to give out beneath my feet at any given moment.
“I appreciate the quick work,” I tell Grim, my voice low. “Keep this between us. I don’t want Judge knowing I sent one of ours there during such times.”
“I won’t breathe a word.” He glides toward the front door, cracking it open. A sliver of the gloomy evening spills in. “Without this group, I wouldn’t be able to afford such beautiful flowers for the home.” He winks, a grotesque, slow-motion drop of one lid over a dark eye. “Until next time.”
He leaves the lot as quickly and silently as he appeared, his purpose served.
“Thank you.” She whispers the words, and when she looks at me, her eyes are big and clear. There is no room for anger or distrust. Just a profound, staggering appreciation. The small, hesitant curve on her lips is everything. It’s a sunrise after a lifetime of night.
“Let’s get inside. It’s getting late.” Leading her toward the front, I prepare for Warden to demand a rematch. I’ll deal with him, with anyone, once I’ve tucked her back into our room.
She needs space, even I can see that. A room to grieve, to breathe. But the want is a physical ache in my bones. Until she calls for me, until she needs me, I’ll stand guard.
I’ll do whatever I can to make her happy. And I’ll wait for the day she realizes that her happiness is a thing I will build, and protect, even if I have to take some risks.
6
Destiny
All I have to do is mention my exhaustion, and Hammer doesn’t hesitate to tell Warden that he needs to find a new opponent. One of the prospects.
Warden sees what’s in my grip and doesn’t push. I can only hope he can sense my silent appreciation.
We make it back to the room we’re staying at, and I set both urns down on a desk. Taking them in with a soft sigh, I turn toward him.
