All I want is to come back to my weeping willow and stare at the life that could have—should have—been mine.
Except… something even stranger than two uncanny killers showing up at the table happens. They lift their heads from the man and lookstraight at me.
No.
No, that can’t be right. Theycan’tbe looking at me. It’s just an illusion. I learned that much today, didn’t I? Even if it seems like people see me, it’s just a coincidence.
The fox-faced one tilts his head slightly, his white eye catching the faint glow of my scythe. A slow, lazy smirk spreads across his lips. His companion—the taller one—doesn’t react the same way. His expression is unreadable, a mask of cool detachment, but his eyes are locked onto my face, like I’m just another tangible thing in this bloodstained room.
Honestly, this has to be one of the most convincing coincidences I’ve seen since I died—maybe even more than the shovel man.
Why? Why the hell is this happening? One weird guy staring right at me was bad enough. Now there are two.
I take a step to the side, just to settle my nerves. Just to prove to myself that this is another one of those stupid moments where I think something impossible is going on, when really, I’m just slowly losing it.
But they follow.
Their gazes. Their heads. Their fucking bodies.
The taller one doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even blink. His eyes track my every move.
The shorter one—Foxface, my mind supplies—leans against the table, resting one gloved hand beside the dying man’s twitching fingers. His smirk deepens, like he’s savoring this moment somehow.
“Aw,itlooks surprised,” he says suddenly, his voice smooth, velvety, dripping with sin, stirring something... off inside me. I don’t know what it is, but it’s there. Something distant. Something strong. Somethinghuman. “It’snever been caught before.”
Pain flutters down, landing on the edge of the table with a sharp, decisive snap of its wings. Its talons scrape against the metal, its black beak clicking once, twice. A warning.
Get the hell out of here.
Foxface's grin stretches wider. “Little late for that, don’t you think?”
Is… is he looking atPain?
I don’t know what's happening. I don’t want to believe this man is talking to me, or looking at Pain. But when I take a step back—
Nothing happens.
I can’t move.
W-what?
If I had lungs, my breath would’ve caught. Instead, a cold, creeping realization slithers through me.
Ican’tmove.
It’s not the usual pull—the force that yanks me from place to place, deciding where I go, when I reap, when I stay. No, this is different. Something else.
Something unnatural.
My fingers tighten around the scythe’s handle, my knuckles going ghost-white. The lantern at the base of the blade flickers erratically, the dim glow pulsing like a heartbeat in distress.
What the fuck is happening?
Foxface notices. His smirk deepens, twisting into something almost gleeful. His one working eye gleams.
“Oh, this is fun,” he murmurs. His gaze flicks to my scythe. “Did you see that, Cassian?Itslittle lantern’s all twitchy. I thinkit’sscared.”
Cassian—the taller, dark-haired one—still doesn’t react. His eyes, one black, the other a dead white mirror of Foxface’s, stay locked on mine. He’s studying me, dissecting me with his gaze, like he’s trying to understand… me. Or something about me.
