Chapter 4 The Present
Cassian stops the ambulance in the middle of what looks like an unfinished construction site. Half-built structures rise around us, silent and abandoned. There’s no one in sight.
I don’t recognize this place. It wasn’t part of my Grim Reaper jurisdiction before. Not that it would matter. Even if it had been, I wouldn’t feel it. The pull—the invisible thread that once tethered me to Death’s will—is gone.
I kept trying to reach for it on the way here. Over and over. But there was no answer.
It’s like trying to open a door that still exists, but the handle’s been ripped off.
Technically, I’m still a Grim Reaper. I can slip between realms, brush against the void. Death even gave me a new task. But whatever used to guide me, whatever made it all make sense, is missing.
Pain is missing.
And no one told me how to play by these new, changed rules.
Nathaniel lifts me gently from the ambulance, and I cling to him, the stiff fabric of my orange scrubs catching against his clothes. Even after everything, he still smells clean, like citrus and antiseptic, and I can’t help myself but inhale him deeply.
“If the wraith shows up now,” I mutter next to his neck, “my only defense is playing dead. Really fucking ironic, huh?”
Nathaniel huffs a breath that’s a little amused and a little annoyed.
“We’ll talk about it later and figure everything out,” he says. “For now, let’s just hope the wraith does not show up.”
He sets me down on the ambulance tray, right next to the Candy Maker’s corpse. Then he retrieves a wheelchair, sets it up, and lifts me again, carefully placing me into it like I might break.
I stare at him. Hard. Not because I’m ungrateful, but because I hate how much I need this.
Apparently, stepping into the void now feels like running a full marathon. It drains me, body and mind, leaves me hollowed out and filled with lead.
And Nathaniel, bless his soul, has the audacity to buckle me in.
Talon, somewhere behind us, is wheezing so hard he might pass out. I don’t even have the strength to turn my head. I just sit there and let Nathaniel tuck a blanket around my shoulders so I can pretend, at least vaguely, that I’m not half-dead and I can hold my head just fine.
Since when did I become someone who’s both babied and laughed at at the same time?
I glance at Cassian. Surely he has enough dignity to put a stop to this nonsense.
He does not.
Cassian blinks, and rubs a hand over his brow.
“The whole wraith business aside, we’re in deep shit anyway,” I rasp.
My voice barely clings to sanity. “Just look at the four of us. A half-paralyzed woman, a half-naked man with a fresh pink scar like he just got off the black-market organ donor list, a wannabe goth, and a fox in human form who’s currently losing his lungs. ”
I suck in a breath, chest aching.
Nathaniel doesn’t even acknowledge me. Talon is still thoroughly entertained. And Cassian? He slow-blinks again, first at me, then at the wheelchair, then at the corpse wrapped neatly beside me like we’re both fragile shipments.
“We need to move,” he mutters.
"Yeah," Nathaniel agrees.
And I just sit there, waiting.
Because really, what the hell else am I supposed to do?
The three of them shuffle things around before opening the ambulance doors and peeking outside.
Once they decide it’s safe, Nathaniel tilts the wheelchair back.
Talon steps out first, then returns a moment later with…
a wheelbarrow? Without ceremony, the Candy Maker’s very dead body is dumped into it, and Cassian pulls a tarp from who-knows-where to cover the corpse.
Real subtle.
“Do they know we’re coming?” Cassian asks Nathaniel. I have no idea who “they” are or what kind of fresh nightmare we’re walking into, but Nathaniel nods.
“Yeah. I sent word on the way,” he murmurs. “They’re expecting us.”
Cassian nods, and we step out of the ambulance. The construction site around us is eerily quiet, despite the wind whistling through the half-finished buildings. The air smells like concrete dust and rust, and it makes my already frayed nerves feel like they’re unraveling even more.
This is the kind of place women are warned to avoid after dark.
For five years, I didn’t have to think about things like that. But now, back in this body, in this skin, I feel it again. That cold, crawling awareness that danger is everywhere.
There are too many shadows here. Too many places to fall. Jagged stairwells that lead nowhere. Blind corners that swallow sound. No lights. No windows. I can picture a girl running here, barefoot, terrified, breath catching on panic. I can picture her never making it out.
My ribcage tightens.
“Real cozy place, you guys,” I mutter. “Bet whoever we’re about to meet is just as warm and welcoming, huh?”
No one answers. Nathaniel pushes my wheelchair while Talon wheels the Candy Maker’s body beside us, suddenly silent. Cassian leads the way. Still shirtless, still smeared in blood.
I start wondering what kind of allies three murderers could possibly have. They live in an abandoned hospital. From what I’ve seen, they have no living relatives they talk to. And even though they probably could, Nathaniel confirmed that none of them have a woman in their life.
The only explanation that makes sense is that these allies are tied to their... work.
“At least tell me what to expect so I don’t freak out, okay?” I rasp.
“Shh, Skye,” Nathaniel soothes. “It’s all good.”
Uh-huh. Sure. We’re unarmed, unless you count the three small daggers my raven forged for them. And I can’t even summon my scythe anymore. Pain is MIA.
Which means I’m basically naked and at their mercy.
None of this is good.
Cassian stops in front of a skeletal-looking building, all raw concrete and rusted scaffolding framing a gaping black entrance. My eyes lock on his back.
Nathaniel wheels me closer.
Something in me lurches. My body—what little control I still have—goes rigid.
“It’s all good,” Talon says, echoing Nathaniel. “But maybe let us do the talking, yeah?”
Um… yeah, I really don’t like where this is going.
Nathaniel pulls out his phone and taps something on the screen. A moment later, a low rumble sounds from the other side of the building, loud enough in the silence to make my heart jump.
Then a sleek black car rolls into view, headlights slicing through the thick, unnatural darkness settling over the site. It looks expensive. And, more importantly, not even slightly reassuring.
A man gets out.
And by man, I mean a wall of muscle wrapped in a black hoodie, plastic gloves, and sunglasses.
Sunglasses. In this level of darkness. He looks like he could bench-press the ambulance we just left behind, with sharp features, a cold stare, and the kind of presence that makes you instantly start scanning for exits.
Nathaniel gives him a small nod, familiar, like they’ve worked together before.
“Didn’t have much choice but to come here,” Nathaniel says, skipping the pleasantries. “Need a favor.”
The man doesn’t respond right away. His eyes sweep over the group, pausing on Cassian, still shirtless and streaked with blood, then on Talon and the wheelbarrow situation, before finally landing on me.
“She’s the one?” he asks, pointing at me. “She’s fresh.”
Fresh…?
It hits me.
Nathaniel said they sell the organs of the murderers they kill. Which means they must have a buyer. And this guy, this one, right in front of me, pointing like I’m a piece of meat, is that buyer.
My stomach turns. Slowly. Nauseatingly. I stare at Nathaniel, but he won’t meet my eyes. His expression gives away nothing, but the fact that he isn’t immediately correcting whatever this man thinks I am? That says enough.
Talon catches my look and sends me a wink before bending over the wheelbarrow to uncover the Candy Maker.
“This is the one,” he says, drawing it out like he’s trying to scare me, and hell, I think he is. “The living one’s a friend.”
I don’t breathe for three full seconds.
Then, as the stranger nods and lifts the body, I exhale, long and slow.
“You know we usually only take prepped product,” the man says. “But I’ll talk to the boss. See what we can do.”
“It’s just for a day or two,” Nathaniel replies. “Freezing her would be ideal. I’ll take her back once the heat dies down. She was old, but there might still be something useful.”
I raise a brow. Freezing her would be ideal? She was old, but there might still be something useful?
Nathaniel really knows how to talk about bodies like they’re expired meat, huh? I can’t say I’m surprised, but hearing it out loud, in this context, makes my skin crawl.
The sunglasses-wearing brick of a man nods like this is the most normal conversation in the world, then drags the Candy Maker’s corpse toward the trunk of his sleek, illegal-looking car.
The way he lifts her, one hand under the shoulders, the other gripping her legs, makes it clear he’s done this before.
I, however, have not done this before, and it’s taking every ounce of self-control not to spiral into another round of stress-induced hysteria.
Where’s my Grim Reaper apathy when I actually need it?
I thought I was getting feelings after these three dug up my bones and carved runes into them, but that was nothing compared to this.
Compared to having an actual body. Real, physical reactions to real, horrifying emotions.
My palms are sweating, my gut’s doing somersaults, and I’m pretty sure my eye is twitching.
Everything I used to feel is now cranked to eleven, with bonus features straight from hell.
“We staying, or moving?” Cassian asks, still planted up in the front.
I have no idea what that even means. Staying? Obviously we need to get the hell out of here. What kind of question is that? Luckily, I don’t have to ask, because Nathaniel nods once.
“Moving,” he says. “We just need a ride.”
I have a bad feeling there’s only one ride option, and it’s Creepy Sunglasses Guy.