I want to stay. Keep scheming. Keep weaving this delicious little revenge plot. But I can’t. The pull won’t wait. It never does.
My stomach tightens. The sensation gathers low, urgent, making me press a hand against it as I’m trying to hold it in.
“I need to go,” I say. “Someone's dying.”
Pain flaps his wings somewhere behind me, cawing sharply. The feeling's not unbearable yet, but I know how fast that can change.
Nathaniel pushes his notebook aside and stands, smooth as sin.
“Where?”
Just like that. No preamble, no hesitation. I squint at him.
Don’t these men ever hesitate?
“I don't know yet,” I reply slowly. “But I'll be back as soon as I can.”
It takes me a second—a second—to realize that he’s not asking because he’s wondering how long I’ll be gone. He’s asking because he’s coming.
“We're coming with you,” he announces like it's the most obvious fact in the world. Meanwhile, he's already fiddling with his face, and for a second, I think he's about to peel his skin off before I realize—oh. He's just taking out all his piercings. One by one.
“No, you're not,” I argue immediately. I don't need any more interference from him or his friends. We might have reached some kind of understanding, but that doesn't mean I’m about to let them make my souls disappear. “This one is mine. I need to reap it.”
“Don't worry. We won't touch it.” He rolls a small silver hoop between his fingers before setting it down. “An innocent soul should go to the afterlife as it is meant to. But we’re still coming.”
I squint at him. “Why are you stripping?”
He gives me a funny look.
“The metal gets in the way in public sometimes.”
I cross my arms. “Oh no. Do people think you’re dangerous? Maybe even a…criminal?”
He smirks. “Something like that.”
Translation: Absolutely that.
And honestly, in defense of all pierced people, it’s not the metal that makes him look like a walking felony. It’s thewholepackage. Take away the piercings, and he doesn’t magically look like a law-abiding citizen—he just looks like the kind of guy who spends his weekdays in a tailored suit giving PowerPointpresentations, then spends his weekends tying people to expensive furniture.
He taps something on his smartwatch, and right on cue, Cassian appears in the doorway. He’s already changed into something more socially acceptable—dark jeans, a plain black sweater. Almost normal. Still massive. Still broody. But now he gives off “grumpy football player with a tragic backstory” instead of “man you cross the street to avoid.”
Not a huge improvement.
Then, Talon shows up, looking exactly the same as before, just with a leather jacket and slightly less unruly hair.
“Heard it's field trip time?” He grins.
I'd pinch the bridge of my nose if I could. But before I can, the pull crashes into me again—stronger this time. And then, another wave of it crashes into me, this one accompanied by a ringing in my ears that makes my eyes roll back in pain.
“Shit,” I mutter. “Fine. I don't care if you come with me or not. Just don’t mess with my soul, and don’t freak out any bystanders, if there are any.”
I really don’t want to think about what they’d do if the death turns out to be some kind of ambiguous accident—something that could be borderline unintended murder, butwithoutthe intent. Like if someone was pushed down the stairs during an argument, or if they died in a hit-and-run where the driver fled but didn’t mean to kill.
I don’t know what these guys do with people like that—people who cause death but don’t mean to. And honestly, I really don’t want to find out.
The pull tightens inside me, wrapping its invisible threads around my ribs, and I know I don’t have time to argue anymore. I focus, let my senses stretch toward it, and in the next breath, I know exactly where I need to go.
Middle of the city.
