Page 40 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“Triage is clear. Go home. Get some rest.”

I drew a long breath, my stomach growling as if in echo of the demand. “I’m fine.”

Tana scoffed, the fatigue etched across her own face enough to sober even a Hazelharborian gathering.

“Kenna?” I countered.

Tana wet her lips and shook her head.

“Then I’ll stay.”

“Mags—”

I whipped up one hand, stopping Tana before she could protest further, her concern truncated like an amputated limb. If my sisters weren’t resting, neither was I. My chest ached as my thoughts spiraled around and around the rabbit hole, and I headed for the makeshift break room.

Still, as I passed Tana, it was his voice inside my head.

Eyes up, baby. One more round.

I nodded. Prayed to whatever God sat on high—to whoever watched over their abandoned pets—that wherever he was, he felt proud of how hard I was fighting.

I’d been too weak. Too afraid to fight when it mattered—when it was us I was fighting for—but I would fight now.

I’d made him a vow that day in the burning city.

I might not be equipped to get Grayshell home to The Middle, track down callings, or act as a diplomat between their kind and the humans while peace was brokered. Aren’s people had those matters handled.

But this—this messy, heartbreaking work—I was born for this.

I pulled bread and cheese from my lunch bag, only for Death to lift his head from my shoulder, his focus trained on the front doors a heartbeat before they flew open and chaos erupted.

My snacks hit the desk with a nearly inaudible thud as voices poured inside, damp shoes screeching across the tile.

Born for this, the shadows echoed.

The humans rushing the gurney inside stopped abruptly when they saw me. I wasn’t as imposing as the other souls, but my new height? The skin glowing softly like the distant kiss of starlight?

I was undoubtedly an ascended soul. No longer so easily disguised among mortals.

Beyond speed, power, and strength, the omnipresent Knowing of the shadows—of Death himself—guided my movements now. More startling still, I was learning to trust them. To follow where they led.

Bowing my head gently, trying to reassure them that I was one of the good ones, I approached the gurney.

One of the bloodied men stepped between me and the patient.

I’d glimpsed matted red hair and a small frame. Female. Or young. Both, perhaps.

Before I could open my mouth to defend myself, the woman in the group yanked on his wrist.

“Chris, look.” She nodded toward my hands, my fingers glowing brilliant white, ready to do my bidding. Brow furrowed, the man glanced at my magic before scowling at me and stepping aside.

Move swiftly, daughter of darkness, Death pressed into my mind.

Nameless and incorporeal, his presence had only grown stronger since the siege, always quick to whisper warnings whenever souls tiptoed along his veil.

I offered a faint smile and closed the distance, my magic sensing and prodding before my skin even made contact.

“Ouch,” I muttered, feeling the familiar sting of bullets.