Chapter 003
Kaelen was pissed.
When he’d woken up, he’d fully expected to do so in Voren’s arms. It was the standard operating procedure for their mornings, and today of all days, it felt necessary. They were supposed to talk. They had a pending conversation about the Organization, about the lies, about the terrifying reality of Voren’s past work.
It was going to be hard to have that conversation when Voren was nowhere to be found.
The other side of the bed was cold. The sheets were rumpled but empty. When Kaelen wandered out into the living room, rubbing sleep from his eyes, the apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the sound of the TV.
Silas was sprawled on the couch, looking entirely too comfortable for a man recovering from torture. He offered an apologetic grimace when Kaelen looked around.
"He went for a run," Silas supplied helpfully, not looking away from the screen. "About thirty minutes ago."
Kaelen stared at him. "A run."
"Yep."
Kaelen wasn’t a runner, but right now, he had a strong urge to chase Voren down. The asshole knew Kaelen had a job this morning. He knew their window for talking was narrow. Slipping out for a "long run" wasn't fitness; it was avoidance. It was a tactical retreat.
He wanted answers, dammit. He wanted to know if the man he slept next to was responsible for the plane crash in Pennsylvania. He wanted to know just how much blood was on Voren's hands.
But he wouldn’t get those answers this morning. Voren was gone, and Kaelen had a corpse waiting for him. He couldn’t sit around the apartment stewing in his own anxiety until his boyfriend decided to return.
"Unbelievable," Kaelen muttered, heading for the kitchen to pour coffee.
He almost hoped Marrow would bite Voren when he came back. It wasn't a nice thought, but Kaelen was past nice. The avoidance screamed guilt. It told Kaelen that whatever Voren was hiding, it was bad enough that he couldn't face Kaelen in the light of day.
Kaelen leaned against the counter, glaring into his black coffee. He’d never thought he’d have this—a domestic life, a partner, a future. Being a necromancer usually meant people kept a wide berth. Death made people uncomfortable. But Voren had never flinched at the skeletons in Kaelen's closet, mostly because he had plenty of real ones in his own.
He’d thought they were building something solid. Now, it felt like the foundation was cracking.
He sighed, downing the rest of the coffee. He had work to do.
"I'm leaving," Kaelen announced, grabbing his keys. He looked at Silas. "You have the remote. Eat whatever you want from the fridge. Don't open the door for anyone unless it's Voren."
Silas gave a lazy salute. "Aye aye, Captain."
The drive to the address Robbie had texted him was perfectly normal, which felt wrong. Kaelen felt like he was vibrating with tension, his hands gripping the steering wheel too tightly. He forced himself to breathe. In. Out.
He was a professional. The family waiting for him didn't deserve his baggage. They were grieving. They needed him to be calm, compassionate, and present. He couldn't take his anger at Voren out on them.
He parked the car and took a moment to compose himself. He checked his reflection in the rearview mirror—tired eyes, pale skin, but passable. He plastered a gentle, professional smile on his face and stepped out.
Robbie was waiting for him outside the funeral home, looking impeccable in his suit. He smiled when he saw Kaelen, but the expression faltered as Kaelen got closer. Robbie knew him too well.
"Rough morning?" Robbie asked, his voice dropping.
Kaelen’s smile felt wooden. He brushed past him. "I'll tell you later."
Robbie looked like he wanted to push, but he didn't. He fell into step beside Kaelen. "I don't know if you had time to read the file. Elizabeth Stewart. Car accident a few days ago. It was unexpected, obviously. The family just wants to say goodbye. Should be straightforward."
"Okay," Kaelen said. "Let's get it done."
He hoped Robbie was right. He couldn't handle complications today. His personal life was a dumpster fire; he needed his professional life to be a calm, predictable stream.
He knew this funeral home. He knew the layout, the smell of the lilies masking the chemicals, the hushed tones of the staff. He’d done this hundreds of times. Reanimate the body, facilitate the goodbye, let the dead rest. It was routine.
Or at least, that was what he thought until he walked into the viewing room and found himself face-to-face with the deceased.
Kaelen stopped dead.
He shouldn't recognize her. He hadn't known Elizabeth Stewart. He’d never met her in life.
But he knew that blonde hair. He knew the scatter of freckles across her nose. He recognized the shade of lipstick she was wearing.
The last time he’d seen her face, it had been in the rearview mirror of a car. His car. In the nightmare.
The room seemed to tilt. Kaelen sucked in a sharp breath, his heart hammering against his ribs. This couldn't be right.
"How did she die?" Kaelen asked. His voice trembled.
Robbie frowned at him, confused by the sudden shift in demeanor. "I told you. Car accident. Some driver ran a red light and t-boned her."
Just like the dream.
The green light turning. The sudden flash of headlights from the side. The crunch of metal.
Kaelen felt sick. He hadn't just dreamed about a car crash. He had been her. He had been inside Elizabeth Stewart’s head the moment she died.
That had never happened before. His ability was about communicating with the dead once they were gone, not experiencing their final moments before he even met them.
A hand landed on his shoulder. Kaelen jumped, nearly knocking over a flower stand.
"Easy," Robbie said, stepping back with his hands raised. He looked concerned now, his professional mask slipping. "You okay? You look like you're going to pass out."
"I'm fine," Kaelen lied. "Just... didn't sleep well."
"You don't look fine. You sound like you're about to hyperventilate. Let me get the family. I'll tell them you're indisposed."
Kaelen shook his head violently. "No. Get them. I can do this. They hired me, Robbie. I'm not going to disappoint them."
Robbie stared at him for a long moment, assessing. Kaelen knew Robbie was weighing the risk. It wouldn't be the first time Robbie had to step in to save Kaelen from himself. That was why Kaelen had hired him—Robbie didn't take bullshit.
"All right," Robbie said slowly. "But I'm driving you home after this. I don't know what's going on, but you're not fit to be behind a wheel right now."
"I'm doing perfectly fine."
"You're an extremely bad liar, Kaelen."
Kaelen wanted to argue, but he didn't have the energy. He just nodded.
The job was a blur. He shook Mr. Stewart’s trembling hand. He let Mrs. Stewart weep on his shoulder. When he called Elizabeth back, the air in the room grew cold, the shadows lengthening as the magic took hold.
She opened her eyes. They were the same blue he’d seen in the mirror.
The parents sobbed. They said their goodbyes, told her they loved her. Elizabeth looked peaceful, confused but calm. She didn't seem to recognize Kaelen. She didn't scream about the red light or the pain.
Kaelen wanted to ask her. He wanted to grab her shoulders and ask if she’d felt him there, in the passenger seat of her soul, when the car hit. But he couldn't. This wasn't about him.
When she closed her eyes for the last time, Kaelen felt a wave of exhaustion so profound his knees almost buckled.
He’d seen her die. He’d been her when she died.
Normally, he would go home and tell Voren everything. Voren would listen, make him tea, and ground him.
But today? Today he wasn't sure he could tell Voren anything at all.
---
Voren felt guilty for the entirety of his run.
He pounded the pavement, pushing his pace until his lungs burned and his legs felt like lead, but he couldn't outrun the feeling in his gut. He knew Kaelen had wanted to talk. He knew he’d taken the coward’s way out.
When he’d woken up and seen Kaelen sleeping, curled up and vulnerable, Voren had felt a surge of affection so strong it hurt. Then the memory of last night had crashed in. The confession. The Organization.
He’d lied. Or rather, he hadn't told the whole truth. A lie by omission was still a lie in Kaelen's book, and Voren knew it.
He was terrified of what Kaelen would think. Voren had done things for the Organization that couldn't be justified. He’d done things he was proud of, sure—protecting assets, stopping worse people—but he’d also been a weapon. A tool.
He wasn't sure Kaelen, with his soft heart and his empathy for the dead, could accept the things Voren had done to the living.
By the time he got back to the apartment, he was drenched in sweat and no closer to a solution.
"You're in trouble," Silas announced the moment Voren walked in.
Silas was still on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table. He was wearing a pair of Voren's sweatpants and a t-shirt that hung loose on his frame. His arm was heavily bandaged, and Voren knew his chest was a mess of healing lacerations underneath the cotton.
"What are you talking about?" Voren grabbed a towel, wiping his face.
"Your boyfriend left the apartment looking like you kicked his puppy. He is not going to be happy with you when he comes home."
"It's none of your business," Voren grumbled, heading for the kitchen for water.
"Maybe not," Silas called out, raising his voice to be heard. "But the tension in here is thick enough to cut. It feels like Mom and Dad are fighting, and I don't like it. It ruins the vibe."
Voren shuddered, chugging the water. "Please don't say that."
"Why not? It's accurate. You're obviously Dad in this scenario. You're tall, emotionally constipated, and you suck with words."
Voren crushed the plastic cup in his hand. He walked back into the living room, leveling a glare at the other man. "I could kill you in a hundred ways without leaving a single trace of your body. I'd be careful if I were you."
"Oh no," Silas deadpanned, wiggling his bare toes. "I'm shaking in my boots. Terrifying."
Voren considered, just for a second, seeing if Silas could dodge a throwing knife in his current condition. Before he could decide, the front door lock clicked.
Voren’s stomach dropped. He turned instantly, his heart rate spiking.
Kaelen walked in, looking drained. His shoulders were slumped, his face pale. And right behind him was Robbie.
Voren frowned. Robbie rarely came up to the apartment after a job unless it was an emergency or a social call. Given the grim expression on Robbie's face, this wasn't social.
"Something happened," Robbie declared before Voren could even say hello.
Kaelen spun around, glaring at his assistant. "I don't like you right now."
"You love me," Robbie shot back. "And you know I'm doing this for you."
"Do I?"
Robbie rolled his eyes. "Stop being a baby. Voren needs to know something is up with you."
"I'm pretty sure he already does," Kaelen muttered, shooting a sharp look at Voren.
"What happened?" Voren asked. He stepped forward, ignoring Kaelen's glare. He looked to Robbie for the intel because Kaelen was clearly in shutdown mode.
"Kaelen had an odd reaction to the deceased woman today," Robbie said, crossing his arms. "He wouldn't tell me what was going on, but he looked like he'd seen a ghost. Literally. I've never seen him react that way to a client."
"I see," Voren murmured. He didn't see at all, but the protective instinct was already overriding his guilt. Kaelen looked like a skulking teenager, defensive and hurt, but underneath that, he looked scared.
"I'll call you as soon as I know more," Voren promised Robbie.
"You know, you two could stop talking as if I'm not right here," Kaelen complained. "I am truly fine."
Robbie softened. "All right. But call me if you need anything."
Kaelen sighed, his posture relaxing slightly. He hugged Robbie. "I will. Thanks for taking care of me."
"Just don't do anything stupid, please."
"I can't make promises," Kaelen said with a weak laugh.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind Robbie, Voren didn't wait. He crossed the room, grabbed Kaelen’s hand, and pulled him toward the bedroom. Kaelen didn't resist, which was the biggest warning sign of all.
Voren shut the bedroom door, enclosing them in the quiet space. Marrow was on the bed, a pile of bleached bones and clicking joints. The construct lifted its skull as they entered, eye sockets tracking them.
"What happened?" Voren asked, keeping his voice low.
Kaelen sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face with his hands. "I knew her."
"The dead woman?"
"I never talked to her. I didn't know her name until today. But I'd seen her." Kaelen looked up, his eyes haunted. "In my nightmare."
Voren frowned. "The one you had last night? The car crash?"
"Yes. I saw her face in the mirror. I felt the impact. I was... inside her head, Voren. When she died." Kaelen’s voice cracked. "I felt her die."
Voren felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. This wasn't his wheelhouse. He knew how to cause death, how to prevent it, but the mechanics of the afterlife? That was all Kaelen.
"And it was the first time?" Voren asked. "You've never dreamed of a client before?"
"I dream of death all the time. You know that. But never like this. Never... pre-cognitive. Or whatever this is. It was vivid. It was real."
"Maybe you're not fully healed," Voren suggested, grasping at straws. "The head injury."
"The doctor said I'm fine."
"Doctors don't treat necromancers. Is it possible your ability is changing because of the trauma?"
Kaelen hesitated. He looked at Marrow. The construct clicked softly, a sound like dice rolling on glass. "I guess it is. But it's never changed before."
"You've never had a concussion before, either. And look at Marrow." Voren gestured to the skeleton. "He's been acting different too. Aggressive. Maybe it's all connected."
Kaelen ran a hand through his hair, messing up the dark strands. "I don't know."
Voren hated this. He hated the helplessness. He could shoot a target from three hundred yards. He could disappear in a crowd. But he couldn't fix his boyfriend's broken magic.
"We'll figure it out," Voren said, though it felt like a hollow promise. "Whatever it is, we'll deal with it."
Kaelen didn't look convinced. He just looked tired.
---
The second time it happened, Kaelen knew immediately that he wasn't in his own bed.
The shift was jarring. One moment he was drifting in the warm darkness of sleep; the next, he was cold. Bone-deep cold.
He was standing in a room he didn't recognize. It was a large, industrial space—an abandoned warehouse or factory. The air smelled of mildew, damp rot, and old rust. Moonlight filtered through broken windows high up on the walls, casting jagged shadows across the grimy floor.
He looked down at himself. He was wearing a dark skirt, knee-high socks, and sensible shoes. Not his clothes. Not his body.
Panic flared, sharp and instant. He tried to move, to turn around, but his body felt heavy, sluggish.
Then came the pain.
It hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest—a searing, burning agony that knocked the wind out of him. He stumbled back, clutching at his chest. His hands came away warm and wet.
Blood. So much blood.
He looked up, gasping for air that wouldn't come, and saw the man standing ten feet away.
The man was holding a gun. A suppressor was threaded onto the barrel. The weapon was held with perfect, practiced stability.
Kaelen’s vision blurred, but he locked onto the shooter’s face.
It was Voren.
But it wasn't his Voren. This man was younger—maybe twenty-two or twenty-three. His face was softer, lacking the fine lines around the eyes, but his expression was colder than anything Kaelen had ever seen. It was a mask of absolute detachment.
And his hair. His hair was dyed a garish, unnatural shade of chemical red.
Kaelen tried to speak, to say Voren's name, but all that came out was a wet gurgle. The pain in his chest pulsed, a rhythmic expanding fire that was eating him alive.
He fell. The concrete floor rushed up to meet him.
He landed hard on his side. His vision was tunneling, black spots dancing at the edges. Next to him, on the dirty floor, was an open backpack. A water bottle had rolled out. Pens were scattered like pick-up sticks.
There was a student ID badge clipped to the bag. Kaelen’s fading eyesight focused on it with desperate clarity.
A photo of a young woman with dark hair and dark eyes. She looked serious, studious.
Melissa Campbell.
That was him. He was Melissa. And he was dying.
He heard footsteps approaching—slow, deliberate. The crunch of boots on grit. He rolled his eyes up, fighting the encroaching darkness.
Red-haired Voren stood over him. He lowered the gun. For a second, the mask slipped. The cold detachment cracked, and Kaelen saw something else in those eyes—horror? Regret?
It didn't matter. The darkness swept in, absolute and final.
---
Kaelen woke up screaming.
He shot up in bed, gasping, his hands clawing at his chest, searching for the bullet hole, for the blood.
"Kaelen!"
A hand touched his arm.
Kaelen reacted on pure instinct. The terror of the dream was still crashing through his veins, the image of Voren standing over him with a gun superimposed over reality. He scrambled backward, his limbs tangling in the sheets, nearly falling off the mattress in his haste to get away.
"Don't!" he choked out.
The bedside lamp clicked on, flooding the room with sudden, blinding light.
Voren was sitting up, hand frozen in mid-air. He looked terrified. His hair was its natural dark color. He was older. This was the Voren who loved him.
But Kaelen couldn't stop seeing the red hair. He couldn't stop feeling the bullet.
A sudden clatter of bones drew their attention. Marrow had surged up from the foot of the bed. The construct moved with jerky, violent speed, planting himself squarely between Kaelen and Voren. His ribcage expanded, and the bone tentacles that usually stayed curled tight were lashed out, rigid and tense, forming a spiky barrier.
Marrow hissed—a sound of grinding calcium. He was facing Voren.
"Kaelen?" Voren whispered. He didn't move toward them, eyeing the aggressive skeleton warily. "What's wrong? You look... you look like you've seen a ghost."
I have, Kaelen thought. I saw your ghost. I saw the ghost of the boy you used to be.
He pressed a trembling hand to his chest. His heart was beating so hard it felt like it might bruise his ribs. But there was no hole. No blood.
"I'm fine," Kaelen managed, though his voice was a wreck. He reached out and placed a hand on Marrow's skull. "Easy. Easy, boy."
Marrow didn't relax. He stayed locked in position, guarding Kaelen from Voren.
"You woke up screaming," Voren said. "Loud enough to wake the dead. Was it another nightmare?"
Kaelen swallowed hard. "Yeah."
"What was it? Did you see... did you see someone else die?"
Kaelen looked at Voren. He looked at the concern in his eyes, the gentle set of his mouth. And he thought about Melissa Campbell. He thought about the student ID and the backpack and the cold, damp warehouse.
He thought about the Organization.
"I didn't see much," Kaelen lied. The words tasted like ash. "It was dark. I just... I woke up before it ended."
He couldn't tell him. Not now. Not while the fear was this fresh. If he asked Voren Why did you kill Melissa Campbell?, he wasn't sure he could survive the answer.
Voren looked like he wanted to argue, to push for the truth. He leaned forward slightly.
Marrow snapped his jaws, a sharp clack-clack-clack of warning.
Voren flinched back, hurt flashing across his face. "Kaelen, you're shaking. Let me—"
"No," Kaelen said, too quickly. "I mean... I think it's best if we keep some distance right now."
Voren went still. The hurt in his eyes deepened, turning into something resigned and sad. "Distance."
"Just for tonight," Kaelen said, pleading with his eyes for Voren to understand, even though he knew he couldn't. "The nightmare... it was intense. I just need space."
He did the puppy eyes. It was a low blow, weaponizing his own vulnerability, but he was desperate.
Voren’s shoulders slumped. "Okay. If that's what you need."
He moved to the far edge of the bed, turning his back.
Kaelen lay back down, pulling the duvet up to his chin. Marrow didn't return to his usual spot at the foot of the bed. He stayed right there in the middle, a wall of bone between them.
Kaelen stared at the ceiling, tears pricking his eyes. He loved Voren. He loved him with a terrifying intensity. But tonight, lying in the dark, he realized he didn't know him.
He knew Voren the boyfriend. He didn't know Voren the killer.
And he had a terrible feeling that the killer was the one who had been running the show all along.