Its feathers fluff slightly, talons tightening on the table. But it does not move. It only stares.
And that unsettles me more than anything.
Because if Pain—my tether, my shadow—doesn’t know what’s happening...
Then neither do I.
Really, even deep down, I have no freaking clue what’s going on.
Foxface taps a gloved finger against the table, right next to the poor man still gasping for breath. The sound is so sharp, so deliberate, it cuts through the fog of my senses. Even with my grip tight on the scythe, even with every part of me locked onto the dying soul, I hear it.
“Is it finally sinking in?” he asks. And I know, without a doubt, that question is meant for me.
Sinking in? Yeah. If only.
Apparently, Ifeelthings now.
The first thing I feel is dread. Can’t say I missed it. It was both a friend and a foe when I was alive, and now it wraps around my spine, settles heavy in my chest, and tightens its grip. All because I realize a simple truth.
I'm powerless here.
Somehow, these men have found a way to paralyze me.
But the second thing I feel is even worse. So much worse.
Curiosity.
And that, I haven’t felt in a long, long time.
“What are you?” I manage to ask, my gaze flicking between them. Then, without thinking, I glance at the dying man on the ground, suddenly wondering—can he see or hear me too?
As soon as my gaze lands on the fading soul, the bigger man—Cassian—snaps his fingers, pulling my attention back to him.
“He can’t see you,” he says. “And he can't hear you.”
My brows knit together. A… mind reader?
My memory drags me back to my Grim Reaper initiation five years ago. I wasn’t the only one given the offer—to guide human souls to the afterlife in exchange for something we all desperately wanted. Back then, they explained how it worked. How every human had a predetermined lifespan. How fate made sure souls were reaped at the right moment.
They taught us about scythes, the journey beyond, and how death was simply part of the cycle.
But they never mentioned beings who could see us. Hear us. Read our thoughts.
As far as I know, only Grim Reapers can exist in the void—the thin barrier between life and death—without withering away.
A spark of fear ignites deep within me, and I narrow my eyes at the man.
“What are you?” I ask again, my voice stronger this time. “How can you see me?”
Cassian doesn’t answer. He just watches me with that same dissecting stare. But Foxface? He clicks his tongue, raising an amused eyebrow like I’ve said something ridiculous.
“Wrong question,” he says slowly, dragging the words out.
The lantern at the base of my scythe flickers wilder.
Foxface tilts his head. “Oh, Grim. That’s not what you should be asking.”
The way he says “Grim”—like it’s a nickname, somethingcute—makes my skin crawl.
