I feel the thought slither through my mind, unbidden and ugly.
I don’t want to be here, sitting in a tree like some miserable phantom, stewing in emotions I shouldn’t even have anymore. I should be moving forward. I should be living another life. Reincarnating into something better than I was before. Something more fortunate.
But no… Ichosethis.
Why? Because my ex-husband—who I swore I would never waste another thought on—still follows the same dull routine, still exists in his neat little world like nothing ever happened. LikeInever happened. Because I thought I'd see him suffer.
I exhale sharply, rubbing my face, only to freeze when my fingers brush my jaw. The sensation is wrong—too solid, too real. I run my hand down my arm, pressing against my skin, and my stomach twists.
It's all so different.I'mdifferent.
I close my eyes. My breath—why do I even have breath?—comes out shakier than I want to admit.
“No, no…” I tell myself out loud. “Don't even think about this. Just do what you always do. Watch them, and… wait.”
I don't even want to wonder what I’m really waiting for. Not the lie I always tell myself, but the real reason. I don't want to go there.
Instead, I force myself to focus on the scene in front of me—how he stirs the pot without even tasting the food, how Jessica barely acknowledges him except for the occasional beckoning. The patterns. The routines. The repetition.
It should transfix me. It always does. But now, it only strengthens this weird anger coiling in my chest.
I'm a Grim Reaper. A dead thing. A shadow clinging to the edges of the world, slipping through matter, untouchable, unseen. Even when I sat here, when I watched, I was never… this.
“Pain, for god's sake,” I mutter, searching for my raven. “What the hell is going on?”
It looks just as confused as I am.
Fuck.
My mind flickers back to Nathaniel’s smirk, to the way his dimples made something inside me stir in a way that had nothing to do with fear. He knew I'd feel different once he let me go. After all, why else would he do it?
It was his plan all along.
The worst part? It seems like it's working perfectly. Because for some reason, I can’t stop thinking about him. About…them.
Not Jessica and my ex. The three men. The three ungodly killers who have painted the entire concrete basement with the blood of the man they first drained on a table.
I wonder… What are they doing now? Are they still at the murder scene? Did they already get rid of the body? Are they still cleaning up?
And what about that thing they wanted me to help them with? No one ever told me exactly what their goal was.
What did they do with my bones? Are they carrying them in that backpack Nathaniel brought?
I... what? What am I even thinking about?
I grind my teeth, feeling the strange weight of my body as I shift against the bark of the willow tree. The questions just keep coming, crowding my mind like gnats, and I don't like it.
Nathaniel’s smirk flashes in my mind again. Those dimples…
Foxface's interest in me.
Cassian's indifference.
I exhale sharply and shake my head. No. I’m not going to sit here and spiral, chewing over my thoughts like a dog worrying at a bone. I’m a Grim Reaper. My purpose is clear. I collect the dead. I guide them. That’s all.
And yet…
I glance at the house, at my ex-husband and Jessica. Theliving. Perhaps it's okay to be interested in the present as much as the past.
