“No,” I say, the word leaving me like the scrape of a blade against bone. “Whatever you want, no. I disagree.”
Neither of them looks surprised.
“Told youit'snever been caught before,” Foxface mutters, stepping back so fast the pool of blood beneath him splashes, sending thick, dark droplets flying. The blood hits the air, streaking toward me—only to pass right through my form, vanishing before it even touches me.
My jaw clenches. It feels like my whole being tightens with another all-too-familiar forgotten emotion—anger.
“It'sscared,” Foxface sneers.
The heat flares through me so fast, I nearly flicker again.
“Itis not scared,” I say, my voice low. “Itwill not listen to a couple of deranged mortals.”
I glance at the table. The man is still struggling, his body shaking as he fights for every breath. His chest rises and falls in desperate, frantic gasps. He isdying—and these two are standing here, smirking like they have all the time in the world.
I turn back to them, pulse thudding in my head like a deafening phantom echo.
“You two arekillers.”
Foxface laughs, sharp and bitter, but it dies just as fast as it starts. He tilts his head, lips curling downward.
“Oh, soithas morals.” He nods once, thoughtful in the worst kind of way. “That's interesting.Itmight not want to work with us because ofmorals. How unexpected is that?”
But Cassian doesn't seem to care. He doesn’t sneer or even acknowledge me. He just shrugs and checks his watch. It’s black. Plastic. Cheap. Nothing like the sleek, expensive ones my ex-husband wears. But this one—this one’s practical. Easy to wash the blood off.
“Doesn't matter,” he says. His voice is flat and indifferent, as if a man isn’t drowning in his own failing body in front of him. “Nathaniel should be here any minute.”
Nathaniel? Who the hell is Nathaniel?
My head spins, my thoughts getting tangled. What the hell is going on?
Confusion creeps in, thick as fog, wrapping around me, choking me. I know this feeling all too well. A lifetime of being left in the dark, lied to, piecing together bits of truth that were never meant for me. And now, even in death, I’m right back here. Helpless. Lost.
And I hate it.
More than that, I hate these two men.
All I want is to go back to my willow tree. To curl up in my quiet, invisible corner of the world and watchhim. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be seen by these men, don’t want to exist in their gaze, don’t want to be locked in place.
But more than anything, I don’t want to keep watching this man break down with no one to show him mercy. That's not what being a Grim Reapers is supposed to be about.
“Please,” I say before I can stop myself. “At least do something for him. He'ssuffering.”
For a fleeting second, I think I see something shift in Cassian’s expression. A flicker of something human, something real. And for that same fleeting second, I almost believe—
Almost.
Because some fragile, forgotten part of me must have still thought these men were capable of empathy.
If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have bothered to ask.
And I wouldn’t feel the slow, creeping horror that settles in as I remember—
They’re the ones who put him in this state.
And they have no intention of letting him go.
Foxface’s mouth twists with a devilish smile, sharp and pleased. Cassian just watches me from beneath his thick lashes.
