Chapter 20 The Present #2
No. That’s not even it. I’ve been spiraling into this mess ever since he and Talon and Nathaniel saved that drowning girl who was very much supposed to stay drowned.
My brain’s been doing backflips ever since I realized why they’re killing.
Not for sport. Not for chaos. But for some twisted middle-ground moral code that makes my own look like a preschool coloring book.
In a world screaming for black and white, they’re the greasy, bloodstained smudge in the middle.
And fuck me sideways, I think I’m starting to care about all three of them. For real. Actual feelings.
Somebody sedate me.
Either way, we’re doing this.
We reach the back of the hospital and turn into a wide lot that looks like a post-apocalyptic parking zone. Cracked asphalt, a couple of stubborn trees that grew without permission. And there it is: a black beast of a motorcycle.
Cassian doesn’t slow down. He sets me down gently, grabs the keys from the saddlebag, and swings onto the seat.
“Get on,” he says.
I don’t hesitate. I wrap my arms around his middle, feel the heat of him through his torn shirt, the ridges of ribs that shouldn’t be so sharp, and the slick, cooling blood beneath my hands. My legs grip the bike as he kicks the engine to life.
The roar is all metal and fury.
Somewhere behind us, I hear Talon, Nathaniel, and the boy getting into the car. But it's just background noise now.
Cassian doesn’t wait for confirmation, or a plan, or sanity.
The bike surges forward like a missile. I’m slammed against his back, clinging tighter as the wind howls around us. He leans low, head down, hands locked on the handlebars.
Asphalt flies beneath us in a blur of grey, streetlights streaking past like smudged fire.
We tear through the city’s outskirts, flying down back roads I don’t recognize. Cassian clearly knows where he’s going, but everything is unfamiliar to me. I never had a reason to travel as a full-time Grim Reaper, and even if I had, I wouldn’t have cared where the pull took me.
Places were just that—places. For five years, every one of them held another death, no different than the last.
Only now do I really see the living world.
We’re heading into the poorer part of town, not the kind packed with greasy pubs and shady alleyways, but a quieter kind of poor.
The houses are worn but lived in. Fences hang by a single hinge. Yards spill over with dry weeds, rusted toys, and broken porch chairs. One lawn even has an old mattress, half-frozen from last night’s rain, slumped against a chain-link fence like no one cared enough to move it.
Most windows are dark. The few that are lit give off only a weak glow.
We take a sharp turn onto a narrower road.
Gravel crunches beneath the tires, the bike dipping and growling across uneven ground.
Up ahead, a house appears out of the shadow.
Small. Faded paint peeling along the sides.
The numbers above the door hang crooked, as if gravity and time dragged them sideways and no one ever fixed it.
It’s nestled between other houses, even with a few in front, but as soon as we pull up, I know this is the one.
I feel it in my bones, in the way I hold on to Cassian. His soul is tied to this place.
He doesn’t shut off the engine until we’re directly in front of it.
He swings off the bike, boots crunching on broken pavement. I follow, legs shaky, heart racing, breath still ragged from the ride. But there’s no time to catch up, he’s already moving toward the door.
Something twists deep in my gut.
The house is too quiet.
The wraith is here.
“Cassian—” I start, but he’s already at the door, hand on the knob. No knock.
“Ma?” he calls out.
I move in behind him, begging my legs not to give out. They’re close to trembling, and I hate it. My stomach is tight. My hands feel both numb and painfully tense.
The air inside smells like old paper, dead plants, and something darker. Like a wraith lurking in the seams of the human world.
Cassian steps in first. I follow, close enough to see the tension in his shoulders but far enough back that if something jumps out like a haunted house scare, I’ll have room to react.
The hallway opens into a wide living room, cluttered with old family photos. It’s a small place, but it could be cozy, if it weren’t for the silence.
Crooked picture frames catch my eye. Smiling faces stare back at me, like they belong to a different universe.
They’re just so bright and happy. Some of the photos were clearly taken here, in this very house, but looking at them feels like slipping into a warped dream.
The walls are the same, but the feeling they carry now… it’s not.
They seem… daunting.
A picture in the middle draws me in. It shows Cassian as a kid.
Wide-eyed. Serious. Holding a plastic sword like he already knew he’d grow up to carry the real thing one day.
Next to it is a girl, a bit taller than him, flashing a bright smile.
A few frames over, she appears again, older this time.
It doesn’t take long to realize it’s her.
Cassian’s sister.
Sabine, right?
Shit.
Every step Cassian takes seems heavier, like the memories are dragging on his legs. He looks around like he doesn’t even recognize the place. Like it’s some twisted version of what he remembers.
“Cassian,” I say quietly. “Maybe your mother’s not here?”
He doesn’t turn around.
“She’s here,” he says. “I know it.”
Right.
Well.
I know that the wraith is here. So there’s that.
A creak sounds above us.
“Upstairs,” he says.
He heads for the staircase, and I follow. My whole body tightens, nerves on edge like they’re trying to warn me before I see it. Another creak follows, louder this time.
Cassian hits the stairs hard, taking them two at a time. I’m right behind him, gripping the railing. We’re halfway up when I feel it.
The temperature drops again.
I gather what little strength I have. I’m not at full power anymore, not even close, but if it comes down to a fight, I’ll deal with it. That’s the job.
Kill the wraith. Save Cassian’s mother.
That’s why I’m here.
We reach the top. The hallway is narrow and dim, with three doors along the right side.
The walls are plain, painted a washed-out cream, and the carpet is worn thin in the middle.
A few scenery pictures hang unevenly, some tilted like no one’s touched them in years.
The air smells faintly of dust and something old.
Cassian doesn’t stop. He heads straight for the last door, the one that’s half-open.
He throws it wide.
“Ma!”
I follow him in, ready for a fight. Ready for anything.
But to my surprise, there is nothing deadly waiting in the room.
She’s there.
Cassian’s mother.
Lying in bed.
There’s a bottle of pills on the nightstand beside her. She’s clearly breathing, maybe even sleeping. Her chest rises in shallow, uneven rhythm, like she’s gasping for air through something invisible. But she’s alive. Her eyes flutter. Her limbs twitch.
She’s okay.
Cassian rushes to her side, dropping to his knees as if the ground disappeared beneath him.
“Ma. Hey, it’s me,” he whispers, gently shaking her. “Wake up. I need to open your eyes, okay?”
I stand in the doorway, my heart pounding.
What is going on here?
His massive, scarred hands cradle hers, gently, reverently, like she’s made of spun glass.
I take a look at her. She’s older, but with soft features.
She has high cheekbones and a pale, olive-tinged skin.
Looking like it hasn’t seen much sun for some time.
Her hair spills across the pillow in silver-black waves, wiry in some places, still thick in others.
A streak of white runs from her temple through the rest. There are faint lines carved around her lips and her brow. Worry lines, I think.
But it’s clear Cassian and her are related. It’s in their noses and the chins.
They both have that same strong jaw.
“Come on, Ma,” Cassian murmurs. He glances at me. “Shit. Do you feel the wraith anywhere? I think she took sleeping pills.”
I scan the room. My skin prickles.
“No,” I whisper, stepping forward. “She’s not in here. But… she was. She’s still somewhere in the house.”
Cassian goes rigid. “She was here?”
I nod. “You should get your mom out of here,” I say quietly. “I’ll… I’ll make sure she can’t hurt her. Okay?”
He doesn’t move.
His eyes flick to me, sharp, uncertain, like he’s holding something back.
“You shouldn’t be alone,” he says finally, voice low and rough. “Not like this. You’re not—” He stops himself, jaw tightening. “You’re still weak. If she comes at you again—”
“Then I’ll deal with it,” I cut in. “You can’t fight her. Not really. Not the way I can.”
His expression darkens. “That’s not the damn point.”
“I know,” I whisper. “But she’s after your mom, Cassian. And you’re injured. Running on fumes. If she shows up again, you won’t stand a chance, not without a Reaper’s edge. I still have that. Even if it’s… shaky.”
His grip on the bedframe tightens until his knuckles go white. He looks from me to his unconscious mother.
“I don’t want to leave you with that thing,” he snarls, but there’s no heat behind it.
“I’m not asking you to want it,” I say, stepping closer. “I’m asking you to trust me.”
A beat of silence passes between us.
Then—
“Take the dagger,” he says.
What? No way. If I take the dagger, he’ll be powerless here. A human. A desperate hurting human. With no protection?
“Cassian, I—”
“You can teleport or whatever. You’ll know if something happens to me, right?”
My throat tightens.
It’s not a guarantee. Not even close. If she comes back while I’m gone, he won’t stand a chance anyway.
But if I don’t take the dagger, chances are, none of us will.
So I nod, even though every part of me wants to argue.
And I take it.
The moment my hand wraps around the hilt, something ignites—sharp, electric, wrong and right all at once.
It’s not just a blade.
It’s a piece of a scythe after all. Not mine, but close enough that whatever Reaper magic is sealed inside it… reaches for me.
And I reach back.
For a second, I feel it, that familiar hum, that cold, impossible energy I just ran out of. It flickers through my veins like a second heartbeat.
It’s not much. But it’s something.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ve got it.”
Cassian doesn’t answer. He’s already lifting his mother, holding her like she weighs nothing, even though he’s clearly in pain. He pauses at the door, looking back at me.
“I’ll come back,” he says roughly.
“You better,” I murmur.
He disappears down the hall.
I take one last look around the room, grip tightening on the dagger.
The wraith is somewhere in these walls.
Guess what, bitch?
I’m done running.
Time to hunt you down.