While time had always been something I tracked and recorded to keep order since the dawn of mortals, it now felt like a punishment.
What would have happened if we’d had more than a single night?
A year?
An entire mortal lifetime?
I was certain I would never be able to recover after Aaron’s final passing. Not even after millennia.
Now, I was starting to believe I wouldn’t ever be released from his hold, even after spending only a single night with him.
The thought settled, heavy and useless.
For a fleeting moment, I considered ending my day there. Closing the chamber. Leaving the rest of the docket for tomorrow. I had already judged dozens of souls today.
But order did not bend for exhaustion, and balance did not care about the heaviness in my chest. I straightened and continued. Longing had no place in the work before me.
I gave the reaper another pet of assurance. “Enough of that, Assirak. I’ll never see him again, and we have much work to do.”
2
TIMOTHY
My heart still raced with anticipation as I stepped up to the counter of Perkatory after yet another long day of judgment. The lobby around me hummed with its usual low, controlled energy. Unlike the chaotic crush of other Vegas hotels, Sinopolis held a curated stillness.
The black onyx floors gleamed like wet volcanic sand from the old Egyptian shores, reflecting the warm gold lights in ripples. Tall palms framed the space, their trunks carved to mimic ancient oasis groves, the faint scent of lotus blossoms drifting from the vents.
The strong, fresh espresso overpowered my senses at the cafe, curling through the air, tightening my gut.
This counter used to behisstation. The place where Aaron handed me coffee in a way that ensured our fingers would brush or become entwined for seconds that somehow both lasted for eons and ended in a blink, leaving me breathless. My skin prickled, still feeling the hot intensity of his gaze boring into me until I squirmed under it. Then he’d smile as if he’d won some kind of prize.
My pulse spiked. I kept my expression composed, unwilling to be undone by the simple routine action of getting a coffee.
“May I have a double espresso?” Assirak pawed my leg in reminder from where he sat dutifully at my feet. “Oh, and a pup cup,” I added.
Before the barista could find the button, a familiar voice cut in. “Make that a triple. You’re going to need it.”
Miranda strode toward me, box braids swinging, the sword at her hip humming with irritated energy. The human sword-wielder would never interrupt a break for caffeine unless something was very wrong.
“Miranda,” I greeted, even as the girl behind me loudly ground the beans for my elixir of life.
“Timothy.” She gave me a quick grin that didn’t reach her eyes. Something was definitely wrong. “You’ve been hiding in the basement for too long.”
“I call it working,” I said dryly.
“Semantics.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Drink fast. You need to come outside. That dick pickle is causing a ruckus. The asshole is up to something.”
I didn’t need clarification on who Miranda thought was a dick pickle. Seth had returned to Las Vegas a couple weeks prior, reclaiming control of his hotel. Last week, he’d thrown a party, so loud and raucous that it boomed down the entire Strip all night. The extravagance with which he seemed to be celebrating his return didn’t bode well.
My pulse ticked up, an unwelcome reminder that even gods had nervous systems. I grabbed the small cup, threw the hot, bitter liquid back, adjusted my cufflinks, then followed Miranda through the lobby and outside. Assirak trotted by my side, dutifully. I waited until we were out of view of the barista to hold out the pup cup for him. He lapped up the sweetness in two large licks.
We stepped through the glass doors onto the street. The slanted lines of Sinopolis blazed with a gold light in the heavy desert night.
The air was alive, electric, hot, the Strip packed shoulder to shoulder with humans. Anticipation buzzed through the crowd, a live wire.
“There he is.” I nudged Miranda, so she’d follow my gaze.
Seth stood on a dais he’d erected in the middle of the crowd, like he was a king among peasants.
