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No one answers. Instead, I’m dragged toward a car, the scent of leather and cigarette smoke hitting me as a trunk pops open.

“You can’t be fucking serious,” I mutter, kicking as they lift me.

The trunk closes with a slam, and I’m plunged into darkness.

Great. Just great.

“Hey,” a voice says from beside me. “You good?”

I freeze, then shift. My shoulder bumps someone.

“Who the hell are you?” I ask.

“Logan,” he says. “You?”

“Eli.”

“Nice to meet you, I guess,” Logan says dryly.

There’s a chuckle from my other side. “Finn,” another voice says. “Looks like we’re all in this shit together.”

The car starts moving, the vibrations jarring as we bump along what I assume is a dirt road.

“So,” Logan says after a minute. “Anyone know what the hell’s going on?”

“No clue,” Finn replies. “Caleb just said to show up.”

“Same,” I add. “He didn’t mention the whole sack-over-the-head part.”

“Yeah, real classy,” Logan says.

We sit in silence for a while, the hum of the engine filling the space.

“Where do you think they’re taking us?” Finn asks eventually.

“No idea,” I say. “But if they try to make us eat raw eggs or some shit, I’m out.”

Logan snorts. “You think they’d let you leave?”

I don’t answer, because honestly, I’m not sure.

The car finally stops, and the trunk pops open. Hands grab me again, pulling me out. I stumble but manage to stay upright as I’m dragged forward.

“Welcome,” a deep voice says, loud enough to carry.

The sack is yanked off my head, and I blink against the sudden light. We’re in some kind of clearing, torches stuck in the ground casting flickering shadows. Two figures stand in front of us, both wearing masks—one red, the other black.

“This some kind of Eyes Wide Shut shit?” I mutter under my breath.

“Silence,” the guy in the black mask commands.

I roll my eyes but shut up.

“You’ve been chosen,” Red Mask says, his voice booming. “Invited to join the Reapers.”

“And what exactly is it?” Logan asks.

Black Mask tilts his head, like he’s deciding whether to answer. “It’s a legacy,” he says finally. “A tradition that goes back decades. The Reapers handle shit on their own terms. The men who run the city.”