I don’t respond. Because, unfortunately, he’s not exactly wrong. Their values… well, they kind of align with mine. Or at least, the darker part of me—the one that lingers at my own grave.
But there’s a difference.
They hunt. They don’t wait for karma to balance the scales—they yeet the scales straight into the abyss.
And me?
I’ve been waiting. Waiting for something, some grand cosmic force to whisper in my ear,Alright, darling, now you may commit homicide.
Then again… I never really had a choice to do it earlier, now did I?
I lift my chin, pushing past the uneasy knot in my stomach.
“I want your help.”
Cassian taps his knife against the table. He already knows where this is going. “You want us to kill your murderer. When wedo, you want to punish him and continue being a Grim Reaper in peace.”
It’s not a question. And, well, that’s unfortunate for him, because he’d come out of this better if it was.
He’s not wrong. But he’s not entirely right either. Makes my job easier.
I nod.
“Yes,” I lie.
Nathaniel hits me with the next one.
“Who was he?” he asks. “How did he kill you?”
Straight to the point. No preamble, no soft landing. Just vibes and murder. The bluntness stings, but it’s expected.
I’ve been preparing for this moment—to share a portion of my past with them. Normally, I avoid thinking about it at all. It was uncomfortable before, and that was even before Nathaniel did whatever unholy thing he did to my bones. Now that I’m this… walking trauma with a side of freshly unlocked feelings, it’s even worse.
But the promise of revenge helps me do it.
“It was my husband,” I say, and somehow, my voice doesn’t shake. “He wrapped his hands around my throat and squeezed until there was nothing left of me. Then, he dug a hole underneath my beloved willow tree and buried me there, no funeral, no closure. He reported me missing, waited for the legal presumption of death, then took my inheritance, built a life in my house, and remarried.”
Silence.
Then Talon lets out a slow, impressed whistle, shaking his head.
“And you've been watching him since,” he murmurs.
“You knew that part already, didn't you?”
“Yeah, but hearing you say it out loud hits different,” Talon admits, his smirk twitching at the corners. “Damn, Little Grim. That's... rough.”
Rough. Not as rough as being drained dry by three serial killers, but sure.
“It wasn't pretty,” I say dryly.
Nathaniel looks at me like he’s dissecting my very being. His fingers are still against the table now, his usual restlessness gone, replaced by something eerily calculating.
“You want us to kill him,” he states again. “But you could just wait. Five years should be nothing to the dead. He'll die eventually.”
“Believe me, five years is not nothing. Especially not when I can… feel things again.” I scoff. “And even if—how long do you think that will take? Ten more years? Twenty? What if he lives a long, happy life? What if he dies peacefully in his sleep, never once paying for what he did to me?”
I shake my head.
