Pain’s gaze doesn’t flicker. “Is that really worth the risk?”
Silence crawls through the room and curls under the furniture. The crows answer with that ugly, syncopated tapping.
Cassian’s voice cuts through it. Flat. Sharp. “We hunt them.”
“You won’t see them unless they want you to,” Pain says. “That’s the point.”
Nathaniel folds his arms, the motion tidy and nervous. “We don’t know the rules of this. Grim Reapers are like people. They’re messy and contradictory. If one of them reaches out, maybe they want a talk, not war. Maybe it’s an invitation. Or a trap. Or an offer.”
“Or an opening,” Pain says slowly. “Or a way to get rid of us.”
My hands tighten into little white knots on my knees. “I want to answer,” I blurt. It comes out small and enormous at the same time. “I want to send a message.”
Pain narrows his eyes. “It might cause trouble.”
“I know,” I say. “But I’m done being powerless. Sitting still while they limit me is trouble enough. I want to take the chance. And I want revenge on Mark.”
Pain studies me, his jaw ticking twice as if he can’t stop it. Finally, he nods.
“If that’s your choice,” he mutters, “I just hope you’ll take responsibility afterward.”
“We will,” Cassian says. I glance at him. He meets my gaze, and the look in his eyes says we’re united in this. Whatever happens next, we’ll face it together.
My heart swells.
“Fine, then,” Pain mutters. “Skye, send the message.”
I blink at him.
Was that… an order?
“I mean, sure,” I say. “Let me just—what?—write a letter and throw it out the window? Maybe they’ll deem it worthy of carrying to their master or whatever.” I cross my arms. “I told you earlier, I don’t have the power. I need your help.”
He sighs. “No, you don’t.”
“What?”
“The last time I transferred power to you, I gave you enough to handle those bloody crows,” he says. “It’s in you. You just need to draw it out. Same way you do when you reap a soul and guide it to the afterlife.”
I blink.
Oookay… so he’s telling me I didn’t even need to call on him?
This little fucker.
Still, I shove the anger aside and close my eyes. I search for the power he mentioned, and to my surprise, itisthere. Thin and threadlike, but there. I press my palm to my chest.
“Could you maybe… amplify it?” I ask, still facing the window. “I can feel it, but it’s so far away.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he grumbles. “Come here.”
I walk over and extend my hand. He doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t need to. The temperature dips, the hum in my chest tightens like storm pressure, and the light above the kitchenette thrums with a high whine. Then he pours into me.
At once, it feels right. The power inside me unfurls, an extension of my will, like a limb I can finally move.
And just like that, something changes.
The crows outside begin tapping on the window, but different this time.
