But now? Now I’m standing in his dead sister’s untouched bedroom, holding a dagger that used to be his scythe, hunting down a nightmare I helped create.
That’s more of a connection than I’ve had with anyone—maybe ever.
Him, and the other two.
I crouch beside the vanity and run my finger along the edge of the dusty mirror. Where my fingertip trails, the reflection clears, revealing my face—tired, pale, way too human. There’s a smudge of dirt on my cheek and a streak of dried blood at my temple.
I don’t bother wiping it off.
The drawer beneath the vanity creaks when I tug it open. Inside are a few hair ties, a broken bracelet, a lip balm worn down to the base, and a notebook with peeling stickers on the cover. I pause, then pull it out.
The first few pages are filled with doodles, a to-do list, a work schedule. Normal, harmless things. But toward the back, her handwriting starts to change. Messier. Less patient.
I think someone’s watching me.
I saw a man by the fence last night.
I want Cassian to come home. I don’t feel safe without him here. I’d never say it. He has his own life now. But truth is, I only ever feel okay when he’s with us.
I stare down at the page.
This wasn’t some random murder.
She had a stalker.
I flip to the next page. More scattered thoughts, more fear spilling out in ink.
Fuck.
A breeze brushes against my back.
I spin around.
Nothing’s there.
But the pressure? It’s building. Thickening. That tunnel inside me crackles. The wraith’s moving again.
Something flickers.
Just behind the bed.
I whisper, “Come on. Show yourself.”
I slip the notebook into my pocket, silently thankful Cassian’s pants have oversized pockets, and tighten my grip on the dagger.
“Let’s cut the bullshit, yeah?” I mutter.
But she doesn’t show. Not yet.
Instead, I hear it—
Nails on wood.
Like straight out of a damn horror movie.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
I stand by what I said earlier: no other Grim Reaper in their right mind would be doing this unless they were forced to. Not one.
