I roll my eyes but step inside, immediately hit by the distinct scent of antiseptic. It’s faint, mixed with something darker underneath, something metallic. Something that makes the air feel sterile in a way that’s more unsettling than comforting.
Inside, the space is exactly what I expected—functional, carefully maintained, but completely devoid of anything personal. The walls are white-tiled, likely remnants from when this place was a functioning hospital, and the fluorescent lighting hums softly overhead.
But even though some of it looks like a ruin, the rest looks like a home.
The front room, which might have been a waiting area once upon a time, is now set up like a makeshift living space. A long, worn-out couch sits against one wall, a few mismatched chairs scattered around it. There’s even a coffee table with a half-empty deck of playing cards and an ashtray that looks suspiciously clean, like someone uses it regularly but hates the mess.
To my left, a door stands slightly ajar, leading into what looks like a small kitchenette. The overhead cabinet doors have been left open, revealing neatly stacked supplies—mostly non-perishables. There’s no sign of anyone actually cooking in there, but a state-of-the-art espresso machine sits on the counter.
Several doors leading into examination rooms, are now repurposed for something else entirely, but there are plants in every corner.
Talon passes right next to me, winking.
“See? Cozy.”
I snort. “Yeah, real homey. You guys do bed-and-breakfast, too, or just the occasional murder?”
Nathaniel sets down one of the garbage bags in a designated area by a metal door at the back of the hallway. He doesn’t respond to my snark, too busy rolling up his sleeves. I get the feeling he’s about to do something with the remains, and I don’t know if I want to see what that entails.
Cassian, having already disappeared down the hallway, returns a moment later with a pair of black gloves, snapping them on without a word. His dark gaze flicks to me briefly before he disappears through the metal door, leaving it open just enough that I catch a glimpse of what’s inside.
A morgue.
Of course.
This isn’t just their hideout. It’s a fully functioning disposal operation.
Nathaniel glances at me again.
“You're welcome to stay out here,” he says, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “But if you want answers, you’ll have to get comfortable with being uncomfortable.”
I narrow my eyes. “Is that some kind of a warning?”
Talon stretches his arms above his head, groaning dramatically. “It’s more like a friendly heads-up. We’re about to do something you might find distasteful—but if you’re gonna hang around us, you might as well get used to it.”
I glare at him. “I’ve been around plenty of death before, you know. It’s literally my job.”
“Yeah,” Talon grins, flashing teeth. “But you’ve never been on our side of it.”
He’s right.
The bodies I see as a Grim Reaper? They're irrelevant to me. I usually skip looking at them altogether, wanting to focus only on the twinkles of light leaving them. The souls.
But this? This is ugly.
And yet, I don’t want to leave.
Because, no matter how much I hate to admit it, I need to understand these men.
I need to understand whyme.
Why my grave? Why my bones? Why did they act like they knew I’d come back?
I take a slow breath and step closer to the open door.
Talon whistles low, amused. “Oh? Little Grim is curious?”
I don't answer.
