The wraith lives in limbo, right? Like a Grim Reaper. She's just a soul. Not some ancient force blessed by a god or anything. She is what she’s always been. A soul. Just like the ones I’ve reaped before.
So why is she different?
Why can’t I banish her?
No. Iknowwhy.
It’s the pain. Not in that usual, "unfinished business" kind of way. She doesn’t hurt because she’s stuck.
Shecravespain. She lives for it. That’s why she killed. That’s why she did all those horrible things.
Pain is her fuel. She needs it like air. And just now, when she scratched me, she tried tofeedon mine.
Fuck.
I inhale.
Exhale.
Then inhale again.
I can feel her circling me like a vulture, soaking up the power she thinks she has. And the thing is, if shereallywanted me dead—or Cassian—she could’ve done it already. Fast. Clean. But she didn’t. She’s toying with us. Showing up, threatening his mother, making him relive the worst moments of his life.
If she’s just a soul, like me, then her power should have limits. And I couldn’t figure it out—why she kept getting stronger every time we faced her. But now I get it.
She’s feeding off the pain.
And there’s no shortage of that around here, is there?
Worse?
I probably gave her more than anyone.
I open my eyes.
The room tilts slightly, like it’s leaning toward the grief seeping into the floorboards. My breath clouds the air. Everything in me is screamingrun, regroup—but I don’t. I stay where I am, body shaking, heart pounding in the hollow of my chest.
“You’re not some immortal monster with divine upgrades,” I say, staring into those endless black eyes. “You’re just a fucking trauma leech.”
She fed on my past. On Cassian’s. Hell, I think she’s feeding on the grief hanging in this room just by breathing it in.
I was her prime target because of how much suffering I carry. Because of what I am.
A Grim Reaper.
We’re steeped in pain, even before death. All of us were murdered. All of us are victims. And all of us chose torememberthe pain—so we could return it to the one who gave it to us.
That’s what draws the wraith to us.
We’re the perfect lure. A little unstable. A little broken. And so goddamn haunted.
Every bit of struggle we feel, we radiate. She senses it. Gets pulled to it like it’s gravity.
And Death already confirmed it. She’ll keep hunting Reapers.
She’ll circle forever, devouring everything until there’s nothing left.
Unless I stop her.
