“You told me to fix what I broke,” I say. “You told me to end the wraiths. You said if I didn’t, my mistakes would consume me.”
“And I didnottell you to meddle in the living,” he replies.
This is bullshit.
“I was trying to stop a chain reaction. He’s the root of all this. If I’d cut him free—”
“You would still be in pain,” Death says, calm and unyielding. “You already know this.”
“Yes, but—”
“Acting on it only deepens the fracture in your soul.”
“I don’t understand,” I say. “Pain wanted me to kill Mark, too. He even helped me capture him. And I can’t just keep listening to Mark breathe and pretend that’s balance. I’ve done everything you asked of me—everything—and now you tell me to let Mark live? That’s too much.”
“Do you seek release?” he asks.
Release? I don’t think we understand the term the same way, Death and I.
“I just… want it to stop. I want to stop hearing that shovel in my head.”
“You will. In due time,” he says. “But obedience comes first.”
Something inside me rises like a tide. “No. You don’t get to ask for obedience. You don’t care about me. You just erase, and end, and call it balance. I don’t want to do this anymore.”
A pause.
He tastes the shape of my defiance like a sommelier savoring wine.
“You misunderstand both your station, and my patience.”
“Do I?” My laugh scrapes the dark. “Because from where I stand, you summoned me here to lecture me while you leave twelve ticking bombs under my feet. You say ‘end the wraiths’ and then threaten me and my men. I don’t even have a choice.”
“The wraiths are consequences of a prison the living built,” he says. “They must be undone.”
“But why me? Why won’t you handle it yourself? Why not send someone else?”
“Because fate chose you.”
That stops me. “Fate?” I echo.
“There are powers older and stranger than you—or me—at work,” he says. “I am not the only one pulling the strings. And it seems you are the spark meant to ignite something new.”
Somethingnew. I don’t understand. I don’t think I could, even if I tried.
“Listen carefully, Skye,” he continues. “I will help you now, because help is what you need. From this moment until the split in your soul is mended, you will not use your Reaper power. Not to reap. Not to cut. Not to stitch, call, or command. You will not draw, pull, or touch the seam between body and soul.”
If I could blink, I would.
Is he… Is he talking about taking my powers away? As in, fully?
“You can’t—”
“I can,” he says. “And I have. Consider it a stay of execution before you sever your own fingers.”
My mind snaps to the wraiths.
“No, wait—you can’t leave me defenseless. I’ll be helpless. Powerless.”
