“Are they… are they aiming for me?” I hiss, moving toward Talon.
“Wait, wha—” he starts, but then oneisaiming for me, claws extended, beak snapping.
I yelp and throw an arm up, but before it can land, Talon spins and swats at it with the slingshot itself, sending it veering away.
“Alright, yeah, they’re aiming for you,” he pants. “What the fuck?”
“Watch out!”
Talon pivots just in time as another crow dives for my head, wings beating like a drumroll in my ears. He swings the slingshot like a club, catching it mid-arc. The bird spirals with an outraged croak but doesn’t fall—just steadies itself and circles back with two others, tighter this time, more coordinated.
Then the air turns into a storm.
Black feathers. Sharp beaks. An actualattack.
I back toward the building, but every step just gives them more angles. My heart’s thudding so hard I can feel it in my fingertips.
Never thought I’d be scared of a bunch of birds, but this looks like a real death omen or something—and IknowI shouldn’t say that. I’m still a Grim Reaper, for fuck’s sake.
One swoops close enough that its claws scrape my blouse.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I shout over the noise.
“Get inside, Skye!” Talon yells, snapping the sling at another. The pebble hits square, but instead of retreating, the bird lets out a guttural cry, and the whole flock ripples in response.
I glance up and freeze.
Every beady black eye is pinned on me.
My breath catches.
One drops low, and I swear its pupils dilate when it locks onto me. Another mirrors the dive. Then another. I’m backing up the stairs now, blouse half-pulled over my head like it could actually save my scalp.
“Inside, Skye! Now!”
I try, but another one hits—not a claw, not a beak. Wings.
They slam into my face hard enough to make my vision stutter. Before I can blink it away, a second bird rakes its claw across my cheek.
Pain flares, hot and stinging. I stumble against the railing. Talon’s there instantly, batting one away with the slingshot like it’s a baseball bat, but the rest surge closer.
“Go!” he barks, shoving me toward the doors while he swings again. Before I know it, he drops the slingshot completely and starts swinging his hands. I’m trying to do the same, turning and twisting and doing everything to protect myself. But eventually it gets so bad that I see nothing.
I must turn a few times because I lose track of where the doors even are.
Something crashes behind me. The slingshot? The bush breaking? I don’t know. And then a voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and furious:
“MOVE!”
Cassian.
I catch a glimpse of him barreling out of the hospital entrance. His shoulders are hunched, eyes narrowed, one arm already coming up to shield his head as a crow dives for him.
He doesn’t hesitate. He plows into the swarm between me and the door, swinging something heavy and metal—looks like the leg of a dismantled hospital bed—like he means to break the sky in half.
The blow connects with a wet, awful thunk, and a bird goes tumbling, but another replaces it instantly. Cassian doesn’t slow down. He shoves Talon aside, grabs my arm hard enough to ground me, and drags me toward the doorway.
“Inside—”
