When he committed his worst crime against me, I died. I couldn't retaliate. All that was left was to wait for his time to come, knowing that someday I’d be the one to reap his soul.
Talon points a finger at me like I’m an open book.
“I see that look in your eyes,” he says. “You know there’s no justice out there. You know some people shouldn’t still be walking the earth, ruining the lives of others.”
“That's not true,” I try to argue. It comes out bleak.Veryunconvincing.”There's a reason for people’s cruelty. And bad deeds don't go unpunished.”
Nathaniel scoffs.
“Please.” He steps forward, his gaze dark and unreadable. “Tell me, then. Where’s the punishment? Where’s the justice for the people this bastard butchered? The ones who begged for their lives while he turned their suffering into his own twisted masterpiece?”
I open my mouth. Close it again. That’s a really good question. One I have no answers for.
“You can’t see it. You won’t see it,” I argue anyway.
But my belly is already staging a full rebellion at the mere thought of what his victims must have gone through. If they became Grim Reapers like me… their pain stayed with them. The feeling of life leaving your body in a way it absolutely should not—it’s something a soul doesn’t forget.
Still—
“Don't preach to me about this whole revenge thing you Grim Reapers linger for,” Nathaniel spits. Gone is his usual calm, that eerie composure. Now he just looks furious. His eyebrows are two sharp, angry slashes, his fists clenched like he’s imagining punching the moral high ground straight out of me.
“You’re waiting for your own revenge, aren’t you?” he demands. “You think karma’s going to balance the scales for you one day. That’s why you haven’t moved on.”
The words slam into me like a physical blow.
I open my mouth—to argue, to deny, to say something—but nothing comes out. Because he’s right.
Nathaniel lets out a dark chuckle. “Thought so.”
“We don’t wait for justice to find the right people,” Cassian says. “We make sure it does. We give these bastards the kind of ending they deserve.”
They’re playing crusaders. An eye for an eye—except instead of taking just one eye, they’d probably take both, along with a few limbs for good measure. Extraction of justice through excessive violence.
And the worst part? I don’t feel bad about it.
I should. I know I should.
But instead, there’s something curling inside me, something quiet and dangerous, something that I probably shouldn’t be entertaining at all.
Because they don’t pretend to be better than they are. They don’t hide behind excuses. They don’t put on a fake, civilized mask like my ex-husband, who walks free, untouched, redecorating my damn house like he didn’t put me six feet under.
And that’s when the real dangerous thought creeps in.
Would they avenge me too?
If they had seen my body, still warm, my heart barely in my chest—would they have imagined my pain and made it right?
Or would they have forgotten me, just like the world did?
My silence must be answer enough, because Talon grins. And it’s not mocking this time. Not entirely. It’s knowing—like he’s watching the last fragile piece of my moral resistance crumble into dust.
“We don’t expect you to agree,” he says. “We don’t even need you to. But you see it, don’t you? You feel it.”
I do.
Even though I really, really don’t want to.
The furnace roars behind me, its heat licking at my back. I turn just in time to watch the flames devour the last of the killer’s remains, the thick, nauseating scent of burning flesh curling in the air.
