“Mark,” Duvall says, and it’s not really a request, “why don’t you step outside for a smoke?”
Mark, who up until this moment has been pretending to be one with the fridge, stiffens. His jaw clenches like he’s grinding his teeth into dust, but he doesn’t argue. He grabs his cigarettes and lighter, then ghosts out the door without so much as a glance my way. The back door creaks open, then shuts.
And just like that, it’s me and Duvall.
The silence stretches. My heartbeat thuds so loudly in my ears, I’m sure he can hear it.
Duvall sets his beer bottle down with a soft clink. I flinch like he just pulled a knife. He tilts his head, watching me with that lazy amusement curling at his lips.
I grip the spatula tighter.
“Relax, sweetheart,” he says, stepping closer. “We’re just getting to know each other better.”
I don’t move. I don’t breathe. But deep inside, something inside me snaps, like a rubber band stretched too far.
I won’t let this happen.
Not tonight. Not ever.
My fingers tighten around the spatula, the edges still smeared with burnt egg. My knuckles go white.
I can’t run. I can’t hide.
But I can fight.
And if I have to send a man to the afterlife in order to protect myself, I just might.
I've gone over my idea a million times. Twisting it, testing it, imagining every way it could play out before I finally decide to pitch it to my newly acquainted killers.
And what a pitch it is.
I wait for the right moment.
After showing me to his room, Talon had disappeared with the others, giving himself a thorough, thirty-minute scrub in the old hospital showers. Then, I watched as they burned their bloodied clothes—every last thread reduced to ash. Nathaniel took the organs he’d carved out and disappeared to... do whatever it is he does with them. Meanwhile, Cassian and Talon scrubbed every inch of the abandoned hospital, erasing every trace of death.
Apparently it's their protocol or something—wipe away every trace, every speck of dust, and every lingering scent of death like the best cleaning crew you'd ever see.
If the mafia and a five-star hotel housekeeping team had a baby, it would be these men.
They don’t leave a mess. Ever.
Which only makes me want to propose my idea to them even more.
So I wait. I linger near the main hall, where I can keep track of them until I can hear crows gathering on the roof of the hospital. They always gather where I linger for longer periods of time.
When the three men finally settle in the common room, they look like they just deep-cleanedhell. Talon’s still wiping the sweat off his forehead, and Cassian has soot smudged across his cheeks, which is especially impressive considering he got it while cleaning the furnace. Thefurnace.
I don't even want to know.
Regardless, I make my move.
I send Pain ahead—my trusty raven, not my emotional baggage (though that’s also present). The bird flutters onto the table between them and gurgles like an eldritch horror politely announcing its presence.
Cassian pauses mid-knife sharpening and glances at me, his expression as unreadable as ever. Nathaniel leans back, smirking under his breath like he already knows whatever I’m about to say is going to be wildly entertaining for him. Talon doesn’t even bother looking up at first, still dabbing his forehead with the hem of his shirt. But when he finally does, his smirk slides into place with the kind of ease that suggests he was born to be an asshole.
“Well, well,” he drawls, finally letting go of his shirt. “Our Little Grim wants attention.”
Cassian ignores him entirely, locking eyes with me. “You’re hovering.”
