When he finally speaks, his voice is lower. “No. You’re not. You can’t move on either.”
A beat.
“But you will. Eventually.”
I hear it, but I don’t. The second half skids right past my comprehension and dissolves into nothing. All that lodges in my chest is the first half, the admission:I am just like them.Not adjacent. Not incidentally similar. Not a higher, purer version.The same.
“Stop talking like I’m something rare and untouchable,” I say, and my voice betrays me with how tight it comes out. “We’re alike. Me and them. You know it. I can feel it.”
Pain’s jaw works, a muscle ticking along the side of it. Then, he exhales slowly, lets his eyes slide away from me and into the dim hallway beyond.
“I didn’t come here to fight with you,” he mutters.
“You live to fight with me,” I argue.
His lips twitch, like he wants to smirk but can’t commit to it.
“I didn’t come hereonlyto fight with you,” he corrects. “Believe it or not, I actually took pity on you.”
I stare at him. “Pity. Seriously. How generous of you. Enlighten me, pity for what?”
He faces me fully this time, shoulders squaring.
“For getting yourself into a state so pathetic I had to intervene before you embarrassed both of us.”
“Oh, bless your black little heart,” I mutter. “Tell me, shouldn’t we both be spiraling? Shared downfall, tethered fates, all that classic tragic duet stuff? One of us falls, we both fall?”
He shakes his head and steps closer, radiating something colder than disapproval.
“No. I’m not tethered to your stamina anymore,” he says. “I’m auxiliary now. I can act when you can’t. I can move when you’re lying still.”
My breath catches.
“And here’s your cautionary tale,” he continues. “If you keep dragging yourself around like a half-rotted marionette, the others will see it. And when predators smell hesitation, they push.”
“The others?” My body goes rigid. “What others?”
He meets my gaze evenly. “Other Grims.”
A chill licks up my spine. This thing, this…self, should not know more about our nature than I do. But apparently he does. Because he isn’t just a raven anymore. He’sauxiliary.
“Explain,” I grind out, fingers pressing into my temples as the headache spikes. “Now.”
“Well,” he says mildly, “ravens are opportunistic omnivores. Thought you knew that much.”
I blink at him. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
“You’ll see.”
He shrugs, unbothered. Then he raises a hand. A scythe materializes in his grip.
The sight of it makes my teeth clench on instinct.
“Cute trick,” I say, voice flat and way too thin for how violently every hair on my arms just stood on end.
I want it. I want to touch it, claim it, take it. Power.
He smiles.
