“Well, my style is to use my divine Grim Reaper powers and save myself, but guess what? They are not working.”
Rhea shifts her jaw to the side. For a second, she almost looks amused by me. She doesn’t answer, and the silence stretches until it starts to feel deliberate.
“Ah, alright,” she says at last. “At first I wanted to revel in your helplessness a little, but it’s not fun anymore. I talked to your men. I told them where you are. Now it’s only a matter of time before they find you.”
I go still.
“You… really did that?”
I can’t believe it. The words land like a trap, like the kind of kindness that turns its teeth the moment you lean in.
“Of course I did,” she says, as if I’m the one being dramatic. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m not your enemy? I’m just jealous of you. That’s all.”
My mind blanks. I don’t know what hits harder, the confirmation that my men are actually coming, that this van and the two girls trapped in it might not be the end… or the fact that Rhea just said she’s jealous of me like it’s nothing.
I latch onto the jealousy. I can marvel at my men later, privately, when I can breathe again.
“You’re jealous?” I echo.
“Yeah. I thought that went without saying.”
I shake my head and let out a short, disbelieving chuckle. “Oh, no. It does not go without saying.”
“Well,” she says, thoughtful now, “you’re alive, for starters. That’s a pretty good reason. And second, you’re loved. You’re wanted. You’ve faced most of your demons from the past. You faced your murderer. That’s a few more.”
She pauses, watching me from across the van. The faint silver light spilling from her scythe’s edge catches the hollows of her face and makes her look sharper, older, like something carved out of moonlight and spite.
“I didn’t think you had feelings,” I mutter before I can stop myself. “Good ones, at least. Not toward me.”
“Bitch, jealousy is not a good feeling,” she says, but she still chuckles. “Besides, how dare you? You, of all people, say that?”
Okay, fair enough. I’m emotional as hell myself. Death doesn’t erase shit. Still, this is a surprise.
“Just so you know,” I say, “being alive again isn’t all it seems like. It sucks a lot.”
“I know,” she replies. “But you got a second chance.” Her voice goes quieter, like she’s admitting something she hates. “I’d like that too. Sometimes I catch myself dreaming about it. All the things I would do…” She exhales and looks away. “But after I died and remembered everything about my life, I realized how easy it is to waste what you’re given.”
I stare at her, and I get the awful feeling I already know where this is headed. “Talon?” I murmur.
“Yeah,” she says.
“I hope you know I don’t want to hear how you’re still in love with the guy I love,” I say quickly. That would be the worst. It’s bad enough that I keep seeing pieces of myself in her and feeling sorry for her. I don’t want to think she deserves my man, too. I have to draw the line somewhere.
“Love?” she echoes. “I don’t love him, Skye.”
“You don’t?” I repeat.
“I still think fondly of him,” she says. “I’ll always have that. But love?” She shakes her head. “No. He was not meant for me. I didn’t even show him a fraction of the real me. I couldn’t have. I didn’t know who I was.”
That lands like a punch.
“Rhea…”
She cuts me off with a crooked smile. “Don’t pity me. He loves you, the real you, and you love him. I’m cool with that.”
I don’t know what to say. Heat creeps up my throat, sharp and humiliating. I’m flattered, maybe. Horribly, selfishly flattered. Relieved, too, and that might be the worst part.
“I really thought you hated me,” I admit at last. “I would hate me if I were you.”
