Then the crows rise.
They explode from the ledges in a single, black wave—thousands of wings tearing at the sky. The sound is vicious, like cards shuffled too fast. Their cries cut through the walls, a raw, living storm.
Talon takes a slow step toward the window. “What the hell…”
“Is that him?” Nathaniel asks, already shifting into combat focus. “Is this Death’s idea of—”
“No.” The word bursts out before I can stop it. My mouth tastes like iron. “It’s not him. It’s them.”
My stomach drops.
The crows that helped me take Mark. Their owners are here to collect on the promise I made.
The birds climb higher, twisting into a jagged formation over the roof. Then, all at once, they go still. The sound cuts out like a severed wire.
For a heartbeat, no one moves. Even Mark, locked somewhere in the sub-basement, must feel it. Something’s wrong.
The air thickens, electric and wrong.
Then the cold hits.
It seeps through the floor, through skin and bone, into the gaps between my ribs. My lungs seize on the inhale. Every hair on my body stands on end.
My pulse spikes.
A thought slams into me.
Are we sure it’s the Grim Reapers coming?
What if this is the moment one of the wraiths gets out of the Skystones?
Something begins to take shape in the center of the room. The air folds inward, solidifying into a figure. My blood turns to static. My body moves on instinct. I reach for Cassian’s hand, search for Talon’s eyes, for Nathaniel’s calm.
Anything steady. Anything real.
That’s all I want.
But then I see it.
A glint of metal. The curved edge of a scythe cutting through the dim light. Shadows curl obediently around a pair of boots, then climb upward, forming the outline of a woman.
A Grim Reaper.
She’s tall, composed, haloed in the mist of dark. Long brown hair spills down her back. Her eyes, deep and unreadable, don’t blink. Her face is small, almost gentle. Familiar in a way that shouldn’t be possible.
And yet when our gazes meet, something inside me lurches so violently it nearly knocks me breathless.
Recognition.
“Hello, Skye,” she says smoothly. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
She steps closer, her scythe dissolving into mist, her hand extending toward me like an invitation. The smile that follows is soft.Toosoft.
My pulse spikes.
No. Not mine.
I turn.
