“Just not this one,” I mutter aloud. Then I turn to face Pain again. “I can't do this,” I say, my voice quieter. “I can't do this anymore. I don't know why, but… I have to go back to them.”
For the first time since I became this thing—a shadow, a ghost, a Grim Reaper—I feel like I don’t belong here.
I push off the tree and slip down to the ground. The landing sends a weird jolt through my legs, that dull pressure I haven’t felt since before I died. I ignore it and keep moving. Through the fence. Down the alley. Out into the city streets, where the world blurs around me.
When I get to the building, I don’t hesitate. I step back into the alley, past the door I left through, and into the dark hallway of the basement.
I don’t stop.
Not until I’m standing in the same damn room I ran from, staring at the three men I should have never come back to.
They don’t even look surprised.
Nathaniel, sitting on the edge of the now-cleaned table, tilts his head slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Foxface leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching me with those sharp, curious eyes. And Cassian, standing near a shelf of rusted, strange tools, barely reacts.
Like they expected me to come back.
Like they knew I would.
Nathaniel’s dimples deepen as his eyes scan over me. “Like clockwork,” he murmurs.
I narrow my eyes. “What did you do to me?”
His smirk widens.
“Oh, love,” he says, voice thick with amusement. “We made you ours.”
I should be used to the silence by now.
The men barely acknowledge me. No explanations, no justifications—just the eerie, cult-like efficiency of a group that has definitely done this before. Not that they've ever caught a Grim Reaper, but they've definitely made plans and watched everything fall into place. Honestly, I half expect them to break into synchronized choreography, like some homicidal boy band.
The only hint that I’ve walked straight into a trap is the smirk Foxface hides beneath his nose.
He packs up their remaining equipment into garbage bags, and glances at me through his eyelashes every so often. If it weren’t for him, I'd assume I was invisible to them again, that they couldn’t see me, and I could continue my lifeless existence in peace.
But that's the thing, isn't it? There's nothing peaceful about me anymore.
“So, what's your plan?” I ask, biting my lip as I watch Cassian sort the bags. One pile for body parts. One for paper towels. One for acid containers. And, of course, one for their murderweapons and whatever the hell else they bring to these fun little outings.
The man is basically playing trash bag Tetris with human remains.
Lovely.
“Have some patience, Little Grim,” Foxface replies. “You'll learn everything. Just let us handle the ugly stuff first.”
Cassian straightens up from picking up all the garbage bags and turns around. His whole body shifts toward me, and he starts walking my way. My pitiful, ridiculous excuse for a heart decidesthisis the moment to freak out. He’s walking straight at me, eyes dark, stride unrelenting, and just as my brain finally catches up and thinks, Oh shit, he's really committing to this bit, it dawns on me—
The bastard isn’t stopping.
He’s going to walk straight through me.
At the very last second, I lurch out of the way like an idiot, only to realize I’ve just graciously cleared his path… to a garbage bag sitting at my feet the entire time. One I somehow failed to notice.
“Hey, watch it,” I grumble, fully aware he couldn’t care less about my complaints.
Predictably, he doesn’t even spare me a glance. Just grabs the garbage like that was his goal all along and keeps walking, leaving me standing there feeling like a ghostly third wheel to literal trash.
It's getting old fast. And, to top it off, I'm supposed to be this entity that they allneedfor something. But do they treat me like I'm anything more than air—something they can see, hear, and walk right through? No, I don't think so.
