As if he understands.
Bullshit.
“I don’t think my ‘wasting away’ is any of your concern,” I say slowly. “As a Grim Reaper, there’s not much I can do except my job. Whatever’s left for me, though, that’s my problem. Only mine.”
But his grin doesn't waver. “You’re about to spend a lot of time with us, so it’s not just your problem anymore.”
“I said I’m helping you,” I snap back. “That doesn’t mean I agreed to hang around with you after I’m done. Once I do what you want, I’m going back to being what I’ve been these past five years.”
He chuckles. And, for some reason, I have to admit that the sound is a lot more pleasant than the background noise. I mean… that’s not really a fair competition. But still.
“A couple of things, pretty Little Grim,” he says, pushing away from the table and heading over to the plastic cover hiding all thoseusefulsupplies. He trails his fingers along the edge of the plastic like he doesn't really want to do whatever it is he's about to. He looks at me over his shoulder. “One, I don’t think you’regonna get much downtime while helping us. And two, five years? Phew. That's a long time to be watching that special someone of yours.”
“It’s not a ‘special someone,’” I scoff.
I'd never call my ex-husband special. He might be different from the others—obsessed with being perfect, cold, distant, the epitome of a soulless person. He might even be a murderer. But special? That word’s way too good for him.
Pain caws from its perch, like it's agreeing with me. Actually, itisagreeing. There’s plenty I don’t see eye-to-eye with my subconscious on, like whether I should just sit on that damn willow tree and torture myself until I’m free of this job, or if I should embrace being a Grim Reaper fully and forget about the past.
But on this, we're completely in sync.
My ex-husband is a bastard. A worthless piece of shit.
Foxface whistles. “So you're the vengeful type of corpse?”
It's so ironic that I almost want to laugh. Almost. Because I can’t remember the last time I actually felt joy, and honestly, it's not something I’m interested in either.
Instead, I raise my eyebrows and square my shoulders.
“Believe what you want,” I tell him. “It doesn’t matter.”
He nods once, his expression unreadable, then disappears behind the plastic curtain. A moment later, he comes back with gas masks. He glances at Cassian’s work, seeing there’s not much left to do, then places the mask on the table, right near the remains of the dead man’s feet.
The way he looks at the cut-up corpse makes it clear he's seen a man divided like this before. His reaction doesn't betray an inch of discomfort, no flicker of hesitation. This is routine for him. For both of them.
Cassian wipes the bone saw on a rag before tossing it carelessly to the floor. He peels off his gloves and throws them aside,then pulls the gas mask over his face. Meanwhile, Foxface methodically clears the table, making sure every last trace of the body is gone. He packs up every piece.
By the time he’s finished, Cassian is already pouring industrial cleaner over the blood-soaked floor.
“Hey, man,” Foxface growls. “At least wait until I put the damn mask on.”
Cassian doesn’t even look up. Apparently he’s big on that. Being a jerk.
“Maybe you should stop screwing around with the fucking undead and do your damn job,” he bites back. “You won’t fall behind then.”
I don't get it. I don't get either of them. This room is covered in blood. I mean,covered. Actually painted. Every inch of the walls, the floor, and even parts of the ceiling are coated in red.
And it was clearly done on purpose. By them. Nobody just gets a bucket full of someone's blood and starts playing Picasso with it just to clean it in a moment.
So what the fuck?
Regardless, I stay quiet.
Foxface scoffs but doesn’t argue with his gruff companion. He grabs a gas mask, securing it over his face, and steps out of Cassian’s way as the industrial cleaner hisses against the stained floor. The chemical scent burns the air, even for me.
In moments like this, it comes in handy that I don’t need to breathe.
I focus on ignoring the stench and stay still, watching as the blood starts to dissolve.
