I laugh, but it’s hollow. “Whatmistake? You’re acting like some jilted kid when you’re—”
He steps forward. Two inches closer and every coherent thought I’ve ever had evaporates from my head. His eyes lock on mine, and they’re so freaking dark, bottomless, and with the kind of intensity that doesn’t belong to the living world that it kind of throws me off.
“When I’m what?” he asks.
I swallow, my throat clicking.
“...When you’re supposed to be part of me,” I force out. “You and I are one. So what exactly are you blaming me for?”
His voice drops low.
“Iamyou, Skye. That’s the goddamn problem. But you aren’t me. Not all of me. Because this tiny sliver of myself you’re keeping wrapped in flesh is terrified. You can’t handle the rest. Ever thought of that?”
It caves right into my ribs.
Because… yeah.
Maybe I’ve thought about it.
Maybe I’ve thought about it more than once.
And every time, I’ve hurled that thought straight into a ditch, shoveled dirt over it, and salted the ground so nothing could grow there.
Don’t look.
Don’t acknowledge.
I am fine.
That’s the script.
I perform it flawlessly.
“I handle myself just fine,” I lie, trying to straighten even as my knees threaten to fold.
His gaze sweeps over me in one slow, eviscerating pass, catching every tell: my fingers tightening on themselves, the tremor I can’t hide, the too-shallow breathing. He doesn’t need to say he sees through me. I know he does.
“Yousurviveyourself,” he corrects, stepping in again. “And you call it handling.”
Ouch.
I want to bare my teeth at him, tell him to back off, tell him he doesn’t get to talk to me like this. But I guess, this just tipped my scale of pain I can handle.
“Why are you even here?” I ask instead. “You bailed the second I went under.”
“You called. Thought things would be different this time.” He turns around and walks a few steps down the hall. “But I’m going to leave again. Souls don’t stop dying just because you’re lying around like carrion. The ones tied to your jurisdiction? They stacked up. Somebody had to handle them.”
I freeze.
I’d never… even thought about what happens if a Grim Reaper goes offline. I half-assumed Death just put the universe on pause on the workload, or something.
Apparently the universe just keeps bleeding out. With or without me.
“You didn’t think to tell me?” I call after him.
“You weren’t conscious to hear it.”
“You could’ve… left a note.”
