“If he gave youthatas coffee, he’s pissed,” he rasps. “Might swear up and down it’s just how he’s always taken it since med school, but trust me. He’s mad.”
Nathaniel doesn't flinch. “Idodrink my coffee strong. Always have.”
I stare down at the cup like it personally betrayed me. “Strong?” I echo. “This tastes like shit.” Still no apology. No flicker of guilt. Just quiet amusement curling at the corners of his mouth. I take another sip out of pure spite. “Med school must’ve incinerated your taste buds, man.”
Nathaniel gives a noncommittal shrug, eyes tracking. Meanwhile, Talon takes the mug right out of my hands. He sips, makes a face, then, astonishingly, goes back for another.
“You’re both sick,” I mutter.
“Yeah,” Talon says, not even denying it.
At last, I turn back to the journal.
The first page is crammed with frantic handwriting. The lines are shaky, like they were written by someone whose hands wouldn’t stop trembling. Some are violently crossed out. Others underlined three times. There’s a smear in the top corner that looks far too much like dried blood.
If you’re reading this, it means you’re already fucked. But maybe you don’t have to stay that way.
“Well, isn’t this charming,” I mutter.
I glance up. Cassian looks like he’s already read it. Nathaniel is more clinical, studying my reaction like it’s data. And Talon… Talon’s definitely checking me out. Or maybe reliving last night. I could blame the bulge on morning wood, but the way his eyes linger on the outline of my breasts tells a different story.
I ignore him.
“Apparently, the author saw a wraith once. Claims to have figured out how to destroy it,” Nathaniel says.
I blink. “Seriously?”
“According to the journal. And only the journal,” Cassian adds, dryly. He’s not convinced.
Huh.
“We skimmed through it earlier,” Nathaniel explains. “Wanted a head start with Cassian, but figured we’d need you. The method it describes is... tedious. Honestly, it sounds insane. But since it’s all we’ve got, we should follow it.”
I glance at the diagrams, which look more like fever dreams than anything tactical. The margins are filled with frantic notes like don’t let it taste you and never let it sing.
One line reads:The sound started soft, almost beautiful. Like humming underwater. Like memory echoing back at me. But by the time I realized what it was, I’d already lost two fingers and half my mind.
Shady doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Nathaniel crosses his arms again. “The guy who wrote this might’ve been a drug addict.”
“Might’ve?” I echo. “Where the hell did you even get this thing?”
I flip to another page. More smears. More frantic notes. Some diagrams have names scratched next to them. One page is filled with the word REMEMBER, scribbled over and over until the ink tore through the paper.
“Same place we got all our materials,” Nathaniel says. “The dark web.”
I pause.
“You know,” I say slowly, “I didn’t think it was possible to make this journal seem more suspicious. But here we are. Honestly, I don’t even want to touch it now.”
“They don’t exactly sell Grim Reaper binding manuals at your local bookstore, babe,” Talon says with a smirk. “Where did you think we got our information?”
Truthfully, I had no idea. In my lifetime, I’d never dabbled in anything remotely supernatural. I was the type to assume every horror movie with abased on a true storylabel was just using it as a marketing gimmick. I wouldn’t even know where to begin looking for anything about Reapers, Wraiths, or something as complex as karmic balance between life and death.
“That’s... actually kind of horrifying,” I say at last. “The idea that you guys could’ve messed up the existence ofanyGrim Reaper out there just because you pulled some sketchy guide off the dark web? My god.”
“Actually, Talon’s wrong,” Cassian cuts in. “The knowledge we have on Grim Reapers didn’t come from the dark web. Most of it, I gathered myself. The rest we pieced together by cross-referencing various religions and belief systems.”
