He was standing three feet away, clutching that ridiculous clipboard like it was a life raft, looking exactly as out of place as he had at the club.
What was he doing here?
And why did he have to bother Dustin today of all days?
“You know,” Dustin said slowly, “most people buy me dinner before they start stalking me.”
Clipboard guy's eye twitched. “I'm not stalking you. If you would just listen to me for five minutes, I could explain.”
“Explain why you've been following me around for three days?” Dustin took a slow sip of his latte, watching the guy over the rim. “I want something better than the nonsense you told me at the club.”
“I'm trying to do my job!”
“Which is?”
“Reaping souls.” Clipboard guy said it like Dustin was supposed to understand. Like it was obvious. “My name is Greg, and I’m a field reaper. I've told you this.”
Dustin felt something shift in his chest. Not fear, exactly. Something stranger.
You were supposed to die today.
He'd said that at the bar. Dustin had written it off as a weird joke. But now?—
No. Still insane.
All of this was insane.
His grin widened, automatic, a shield sliding into place. “So you're Death, huh? I was wondering when you'd come for me.”
“Three days ago!” Clipboard guy’s—Greg’s—voice cracked. “You were supposed to die three days ago. And you didn't. And I need you to?—”
“To die for you?”
“Could you please?”
The desperation in his voice was almost funny. Almost.
Dustin's gaze stayed fixed on him, searching for the joke, the hidden camera, anything that would make this make sense. He found nothing. Just earnest, panicked sincerity.
“Wow.” Dustin laughed. It came out sharper than he intended. “That's the most direct anyone's ever been with me.”
“That's not—I don't mean—” Greg was struggling now, color rising in his cheeks in a way that made Dustin want to mess with him even more. “This isn't a joke. This is serious. This is my job.”
“And you're very cute doing it, but you really need to rethink how you approach people.”
Greg made a strangled sound. “You don't understand! You're my first solo assignment and you're three days overdue!”
“That soundslike a you problem.”
“It's a cosmic problem! It's a problem with the natural order!” His voice cracked again. “People don't just survive their scheduled deaths! You can't do that!”
“Can't do what?” Dustin pushed off the counter, heading for the door. He needed air. He needed to be anywhere but here. “Keep living? Tough luck. I don't mean to check out any time soon.”
“Wait!” Footsteps behind him, frantic. “You can't just walk away from this!”
Dustin paused at the door. Glanced back.
Greg was standing in the middle of the coffee shop, clipboard raised like a weapon, looking like he was about two seconds from a complete meltdown. The couple in the corner was staring. The teenager behind the counter had stopped pretending to wipe things down, shooting Dustin an odd look.
