Oh no!
He'd left it in the room when he’d fled.
His company-issued documentation device. His connection to headquarters. His everything.
Gone.
Greg slid down the wall and put his head in his hands.
Outside, he heard Dustin walk away.
CHAPTER 11
Dustin’s bare feet stung against the cold asphalt as he walked back to his room. He'd chased Greg out here without shoes, without a shirt, without thinking. Fueled by nothing but rage and adrenaline and the image of Greg's hands on his gear.
His sabotaged gear.
The door to his room was still open. Dustin stepped inside and stopped.
He’d thought Greg was delusional.
But delusional people didn’t walk through walls.
You were supposed to die today.
I'm a reaper.
The inflatable duck was supposed to kill you.
Dustin's hands were shaking. He shoved them in his pockets.
And then he spotted Greg’s clipboard, sitting on the chair in the corner.
Dustin stared at it.
The little reaper had left his precious clipboard here.
It looked ordinary enough. A brown clipboard with ametal clasp and a stack of papers. Nothing about it screamed “supernatural artifact.”
Dustin picked it up.
The first page was a form. His name was at the top—DUSTIN, in neat capital letters—followed by a string of information. Male. Twenty-six. The location of the Apex Energy shoot. And a short time window, matching the time the duck had collapsed on him.
Status: PENDING
Collection window: CLOSED
Notes: Subject survived scheduled death. Cause unclear. Investigation ongoing.
Dustin's stomach turned.
Investigation ongoing.
He was a problem to be solved. A glitch in the system.
He flipped to the next page. Blank. The one after that, blank too. He fanned through the rest of the clipboard—nothing.
He was about to set it down when new text began appearing on the second page.
