“So, no matter what we do, now that her killer’s gone, she’s about to disappear?” Talon drags his tongue over his teeth like he’s trying to decide whether to punch someone or devote himself to learning how to set the whole afterlife on fire. “We either let her take revenge and blink out of existence like a deleted file, or we lock the killer’s soul away andforceher to fade?”
“Uh…” I wince. “Yeah. That about sums it up.”
“That's bullshit,” Cassian snaps.
Nathaniel’s gaze flicks from the woman to the Skystone in Talon's grip.
“That’s it?” he asks. “Those are our only choices? Really?”
“Yes,” I say.
He exhales hard. “We’ve been working under the assumption that Grim Reapers are immortal. Untouchable. Permanent.”
“Yeah, well, we were fucking wrong.” Cassian’s fingers curl into fists so tight I hear the knuckles crack, his teeth grinding like he’s about to file them into fangs. “We've been lied to. We’ve beenplayed. And you know what? Ihatebeing played.” His gaze flicks to me. Then, it snaps to the woman. “Let her have her revenge. She’ll vanish, but at least she gets justice. She’ll get what Skye—” He cuts himself off, his jaw flexing like even saying my name physically hurts him. “What Skyedeserves.”
And now I have no idea whether I should be scared of him or, like… pat him on the back for his uncharacteristic emotional awareness. Wow, thanks for thinking of me, Cassian! So sweet! But honestly? It doesn’t even matter.
Because the Grim Reaper in question? She’s about to Irish exit this shit show either way.
I, however, am stuck with these three lunatics, which means I’m the one who’s going to be fucked when this is all over.
“And then what?” Talon asks. “That bitch—the Candy Maker—just moves on? She gets reincarnated like she was just some regular fucking person? Like she didn’t murder children? She gets the same fate as them?” His voice cracks, rage trembling beneath it. “This is why we’re doing this. This is why we fucking kill them. To stop it.”
And, unfortunately for my peace of mind, he’s right. If Laura Collins moves on, she’ll just be another faceless soul in the karmic car wash, getting scrubbed clean of all her sins after a few celestial alleged punishments.
No one knows what the punishments actually are.
And let’s be real—there probably aren’t many child Grim Reapers who chose to personally hunt down the creepy grandma who handed them poison-laced candies.
These men are right to want her soul locked forever.
But then again… don’t we all fuck each other over in some way? If we never let anyone move forward, doesn’t that mean we all just stay stuck? Maybe that’s what it means to be human—to be both sweet and cruel, to love and destroy in the same breath.
And yet… if I start thinking about my ex-husband like that—like someone who might deserve a fresh start—I feel something dark and ugly coil inside me. I don’t want him reborn. I don’t want him forgiven. I want him to rot. To suffer. And if I could, I’d bottle his agony and sip it like a fine wine for the rest of eternity.
“Please…” the woman rasps out.
Cassian scoffs.
“This is so fucking wrong,” he mutters, his voice almost breaking. His eyes burn, his chest rising and falling too fast. “She killed the Grim Reaper's kid.”
For once, he doesn't look like a man carved from stone, all sharp edges and untouchable resolve. The cracks are showing. There's empathy in him now—messy, violent empathy. The kind that burns cities to the ground.
Talon stares at the woman, his jaw tight. Nathaniel exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face.
They'reallconflicted.
For so long, they’ve told themselves that blood evens the scales. That fate is just a game they can rig. That their knives, their vengeance, their body count could ever be enough. But now, standing in the wreckage of their own convictions, staring down the ugly, chaotic truth—they see it.
No matter how many monsters they kill, no matter how much blood soaks their hands, the universe refuses to balance out in the way they want.
“Life and death aren’t black and white,” I say, before my brain can stop my mouth from making things worse.
The woman shudders, the last threads of her existence fraying apart, unraveling into nothing.
“I'm running out of time,” she breathes. “I can feel it.”
A whisper of a plea.
