Page 12 of Forgotten (The Soulbound #1)

The pull hits me again—sharp, insistent, and about as subtle as a drunk banshee.

Nathaniel and I are hunched over the table, knee-deep in the world’s worst nostalgia trip as I dredge up every miserable memory of my ex-husband. His notebook sits open, ink flowing in elegant, looping script—too refined for a man who spends his nights harvesting bodies like a professional.

It doesn’t fit him. And yet, it does.

I want to stay. Keep scheming. Keep weaving this delicious little revenge plot. But I can’t. The pull won’t wait. It never does.

My stomach tightens. The sensation gathers low, urgent, making me press a hand against it as I’m trying to hold it in.

“I need to go,” I say. “Someone's dying.”

Pain flaps his wings somewhere behind me, cawing sharply. The feeling's not unbearable yet, but I know how fast that can change.

Nathaniel pushes his notebook aside and stands, smooth as sin.

“Where?”

Just like that. No preamble, no hesitation. I squint at him.

Don’t these men ever hesitate?

“I don't know yet,” I reply slowly. “But I'll be back as soon as I can.”

It takes me a second—a second—to realize that he’s not asking because he’s wondering how long I’ll be gone. He’s asking because he’s coming.

“We're coming with you,” he announces like it's the most obvious fact in the world. Meanwhile, he's already fiddling with his face, and for a second, I think he's about to peel his skin off before I realize—oh. He's just taking out all his piercings. One by one.

“No, you're not,” I argue immediately. I don't need any more interference from him or his friends. We might have reached some kind of understanding, but that doesn't mean I’m about to let them make my souls disappear. “This one is mine. I need to reap it.”

“Don't worry. We won't touch it.” He rolls a small silver hoop between his fingers before setting it down. “An innocent soul should go to the afterlife as it is meant to. But we’re still coming.”

I squint at him. “Why are you stripping?”

He gives me a funny look.

“The metal gets in the way in public sometimes.”

I cross my arms. “Oh no. Do people think you’re dangerous? Maybe even a… criminal ?”

He smirks. “Something like that.”

Translation: Absolutely that.

And honestly, in defense of all pierced people, it’s not the metal that makes him look like a walking felony. It’s the whole package. Take away the piercings, and he doesn’t magically look like a law-abiding citizen—he just looks like the kind of guy who spends his weekdays in a tailored suit giving PowerPoint presentations, then spends his weekends tying people to expensive furniture.

He taps something on his smartwatch, and right on cue, Cassian appears in the doorway. He’s already changed into something more socially acceptable—dark jeans, a plain black sweater. Almost normal. Still massive. Still broody. But now he gives off “grumpy football player with a tragic backstory” instead of “man you cross the street to avoid.”

Not a huge improvement.

Then, Talon shows up, looking exactly the same as before, just with a leather jacket and slightly less unruly hair.

“Heard it's field trip time?” He grins.

I'd pinch the bridge of my nose if I could. But before I can, the pull crashes into me again—stronger this time. And then, another wave of it crashes into me, this one accompanied by a ringing in my ears that makes my eyes roll back in pain.

“Shit,” I mutter. “Fine. I don't care if you come with me or not. Just don’t mess with my soul, and don’t freak out any bystanders, if there are any.”

I really don’t want to think about what they’d do if the death turns out to be some kind of ambiguous accident—something that could be borderline unintended murder, but without the intent. Like if someone was pushed down the stairs during an argument, or if they died in a hit-and-run where the driver fled but didn’t mean to kill.

I don’t know what these guys do with people like that—people who cause death but don’t mean to. And honestly, I really don’t want to find out.

The pull tightens inside me, wrapping its invisible threads around my ribs, and I know I don’t have time to argue anymore. I focus, let my senses stretch toward it, and in the next breath, I know exactly where I need to go.

Middle of the city.

“I guess one of you is driving,” I mutter, already reaching for the door.

Pain flutters beside me before it seeps through the walls and into the night sky. There are no clouds tonight—just an endless stretch of black with scattered stars. I can barely see it as it disappears into the darkness.

Cassian takes the driving duty. He doesn’t say a word as he steps ahead of the group, keys already in hand, and heads for the sleek, dark car parked just outside the hospital. It's different from the truck they used to bring in the body, but I guess, with all the precautions these guys take, it makes sense.

Nathaniel and Talon follow him without hesitation, slipping into the car and letting me sit next to the driver this time.

As soon as Cassian starts the engine, the low rumble vibrates through the car, and I settle into my seat, arms folded tightly over my chest. The pull is getting stronger, winding around my ribs, urging me forward, but I force myself to breathe through it.

“You okay?” he murmurs in a low voice.

I don't know why, but it pisses me off.

“Yeah,” I bite back. “I'm a wisp of nothing, after all.”

He doesn’t react to my jab, not outwardly. But something flickers across his face—too quick for me to identify—before he shifts gears and pulls onto the road.

I stay quiet most of the time, closing my eyes and focusing on the pull. I speak only when I have to—when it's time for him to take a turn or change directions. And since we're so far from the center of my jurisdiction over the dying humans, we need to drive for a while.

I exhale sharply, eyes fluttering open as the pull tightens one last time.

“Here,” I say. “Turn left.”

Cassian does without hesitation, the tires gliding smoothly against the asphalt. We pass by closed shops, a few late-night diners, and then, at the very end of the block, we reach it. A swimming pool.

It looks like a fairly new community center with glass doors, white walls, and a well-lit parking lot that's nearly empty at this hour. The only sign of life is a single bike parked near the entrance.

Talon gets out of the car first and walks over to open the door for me. I shoot him a glance, wondering why he'd bother, but he explains on his own.

“I know it takes some effort for you to pass through things,” he says, looking smug. “I've noticed. Come on, let's move.”

I step out of the car, my gaze flicking up to the building in front of me. The pull is stronger here—like some invisible force has hooked a leash around my waist and is reeling me in. The faint smell of chlorine lingers in the air, mixing with the cool night breeze.

Someone is dying inside.

“There shouldn't be anyone here at this hour,” I mutter. “What time is it?”

Nathaniel glances at his watch. “Just past midnight.”

“Sunday, at that,” Cassian supplies. “The last time the center was open was Friday evening.”

The way he says it sends a chill down my spine. I shake it off and press forward.

Pain swoops low, its wings nearly brushing my hair before it perches on the roof of the entrance, tilting its head like it’s already waiting for the soul to slip free.

I don't exactly trust this bastard as much as I used to, but this death should be routine. Just like the others.

Everything feels the same so far.

“Doors are locked,” Talon notes as he tugs at the handle.”Well, I don't have time to wait,” I tell him.

“Neither do we,” he responds.

I don’t get it until he steps back, puts gloves on, rolls his shoulders like he’s preparing for a WWE showdown with a door, and then—

CRASH.

Talon drives his elbow into the glass. A sharp crack splits the night as the window shatters, spiderweb cracks spreading across the surface. He doesn’t stop there—he steps in, grips the broken edge with his gloved hands, and yanks, tearing an opening large enough for all of them to slip through.

I just stare at him. “Subtle.”

“Someone's dying inside,” he says, like that justifies felony-level property damage.

Maybe it would if it wasn’t fate for that person to die there. But it is.

Nathaniel steps past me, brushing stray glass shards out of the way with his boot before slipping inside without a word. Cassian follows, his movements smooth and controlled as always, and I—I don’t need to squeeze through like them. I simply step forward and phase through the ruined entrance, my form passing weightlessly through the fractured glass.

Pain flutters in after me, landing on a nearby railing with a quiet rustle of wings.

Inside, the chlorine smell is even stronger. But nothing looks out of the ordinary.

No blood. No smoke. No gunpowder.

No immediate signs of a struggle.

Aside from the very recent act of breaking and entering, of course.

I don't even hear anything. The ventilation system is clearly turned off; there's no water lapping against the pool walls in the distance. Showers are turned off. It's like no one's been here for at least the weekend.

But there's still a dying soul here.

My feet move before I think about it, guided by the pull still clawing at my ribs. My steps are silent as I glide past the front desk, beyond the changing rooms, and toward the main pool area. The men follow behind.

The moment I step into the pool area, I realize what's happening. The entire pool, at least sixty feet long and wide, is covered by a thick, opaque tarp, the kind they use to keep the water clean when the place isn’t in use.

Under the cover, something moves. A faint ripple. A trapped motion.

Someone's drowning.

My Grim Reaper instincts kick in. I approach the dark shape in the pool and lean forward slowly, searching for the soul about to leave the body. Pain flies by, and my miniature scythe appears in my hand, which I let expand to its full size.

But the men have other ideas. Completely insane ideas.

Before I can react, Cassian is already pulling off his sweater in one smooth motion as he heads toward the pool's edge. Nathaniel moves to the cover, tugging at the edges with quick, precise movements, trying to free them. When it doesn't give, he pulls a knife from his boot and starts cutting through it. Talon jumps in to help.

Before I know it, Cassian has kicked off his boots and jumped in.

Just like that.

“Wait, this is...” I try to argue. “You don't actually want to save this person, do you?”

But it’s obvious that’s exactly what they’re doing. And that realization makes my already-dead heart lurch violently back to life.

They cannot do this. They told me they wouldn’t. This soul is mine to reap and mine to guide to the afterlife. Not theirs to heroically save.

“Stop it!” I shout, uselessly flapping my arms. But they don’t stop. They double down.

The pull is so strong that the soul's about to leave the body any moment now. And not like it was with the murderer lying on their table. This time, it's actually escaping. I can see it—the faint, silvery shimmer just beneath the rippling water, about to separate from the body.

But then Cassian gets there first.

He dives under the water, disappearing beneath the plastic cover, and grabs hold of it. Nathaniel and Talon move in perfect sync, tearing the pool cover apart in jagged pieces. Cassian’s dark figure surfaces, his arms wrapped around the drowning victim—a young woman, limp and lifeless, her face barely visible through the water as Cassian pulls her up.

“No.” I start to panic. “This isn't happening. You can't rescue her.”

I lurch forward, my scythe’s blade glowing bright, reacting to the tension inside me. The soul is right there— right there —slipping free, already on the verge of severing from the body—but then Nathaniel runs over and helps Cassian drag the girl up. They lay her flat on the ground, and Nathaniel drops to his knees, pressing his hands to her chest.

No.

No, no, no.

“Tal,” he calls out. “Call the ambulance. Tell them a woman was found unresponsive in the community pool, drowning. I started chest compressions and rescue breaths.”

I watch, frozen, as Talon pulls a burner phone from his jacket and starts dialing. Cassian stays kneeling beside the girl, his drenched form looming over her as water drips from his hair, sliding down the sharp angles of his face. Nathaniel keeps steady pressure on her chest, pushing down in rhythmic compressions before locking her nose, opening her jaw and breathing into her lungs.

“You told me you wouldn’t interrupt!” I protest. “You promised the soul would be mine.”

“For God's sake, Skye!” Nathaniel suddenly yells at me. “This girl isn’t dead yet. She can still live.”

A sharp pain lances through my chest—through my ribs, through my stomach, through whatever part of me the pull has coiled itself around. It hurts in a way it never has before.

Because this isn’t how my job works.

You don’t undo death.

You don’t just shove a soul back in like it’s a loose plug in a wall socket.

“She was already leaving,” I choke out, my voice uneven. “It was her time to—”

“Not on my fucking watch,” Nathaniel snaps, pressing down harder.

The glowing thread of her soul flickers above her chest, hovering, as if waiting, as if deciding.

That… I don’t think it should be able to do that.

And then, just like that, the girl’s body jerks . Her back arches, her lips part with a strangled, gurgling sound, and suddenly—

She gasps.

The soul snaps back into her body.

I stumble back.

The glow of my scythe flickers—wavers—then dies, like even it can’t believe what just happened.

Pain lets out a sharp, rattling caw from his perch, his feathers ruffling, his beady black eyes fixated on the girl now coughing and gasping on the floor.

I watch in horror as color returns to her face, as her fingers twitch, as her body starts working again.

It’s like the universe just changed its mind.

Like death just… hit a reverse button.

Like I never even had a claim on her soul to begin with.

Cassian exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders before he stands, dragging his sweater over his head again, not even bothering to dry off. Talon kneels beside the half-drowned girl, giving her a once-over before turning to Nathaniel.

“Hey, hey,” he coos. “Easy.”

She coughs up water, turning to the side. Her entire body is wracked with shivers and her eyelashes flutter like she doesn't even know where she is.

“What… Who…” she croaks between shaky breaths.

I grip my scythe so tightly my hands tremble. I know I shouldn't wish this random girl was dead, but here we are. It's just the way things are.

Accidents don't happen. They don't exist. When it’s time for a human to die, they just do—no take-backs, no “oopsies,” no second chances.

Except these lunatics just gave her one.

The system is simple: people die when their time is up, whether it’s a peaceful passing, a freak accident, or a tragic but inevitable end. The only exception? Cold-blooded murder—the kind that steps outside of fate’s design.

This? This wasn’t murder.

This girl was meant to die. The clock struck zero, the curtain closed, and yet… these idiots pried it back open.

Even I don’t know what happens next. And that is not a good sign.

“You’re safe,” Nathaniel says smoothly, sounding like a completely different person than the one I’ve come to know. “Try not to move too much. An ambulance is on the way.”

The girl blinks rapidly, her chest heaving, fingers twitching like she’s trying to make sure she’s still attached to reality.

“I… I was…”

“Drowning,” Cassian supplies.

A shudder runs through her, and she turns her head, looking at the pool like it's something from a nightmare.

Talon, still crouched beside her, lifts a brow. “You remember how you ended up in there?”

She hesitates. I can see the way her mind races, struggling to piece the events together.

And then her entire body stiffens.

Her breath hitches.

Her pupils dilate with something raw and terrified.

“I came for a swim late…” She swallows thickly. “The staff didn't know I was in there. They put the cover over the pool while I was still inside.”

Talon and Nathaniel exchange a glance.

“Are you saying this was an accident?” the latter asks.

“I… think so.” She breathes rapidly. “I was doing breath exercises. I didn't move much and didn't look up…”

I exhale sharply, stepping back.

An accident.

No murder. No intent. No foul play.

Just pure, unfiltered dumbassery.

Other words? Fate .

Nathaniel runs a steadying hand over the girl’s shoulder, murmuring quiet reassurances as she slowly catches her breath. Talon flashes her a grin—something meant to be soothing, but only makes me feel more nauseated. Cassian remains still, watching her with a detached intensity, water still dripping from his clothes.

The sirens wail in the distance.

I take another step back. The space between me and them suddenly feels too damn small, like I might suffocate in it.

Nathaniel looks up, his eyes locking onto mine.

He knows.

He sees it—the panic, the disbelief, the raw horror on my face.

And then, just as I'm about to start backing away real fast, the girl slowly turns her head away from them.

And looks directly at me.

Oh, hell no.

I stiffen. My soul tries to evacuate my body.

And then she speaks. To me .

“Fuck, please don’t tell me…” I mutter under my breath, praying she’s just oxygen-deprived and hallucinating.

But no. She turns back to the guys and smiles, all teary-eyed and grateful.

“I don’t know why the hell you four were here or how you knew I was drowning, but…” Her voice wobbles. “Thank you for saving my life.”

The world tilts beneath me.

Four.

Four ?

“Four?” Talon echoes my thoughts. He glances at me, then back at her, smirking. “She didn’t do anything, believe me. It was only us three.”

He’s testing her. Seeing if she just misspoke or if she’s still dazed from nearly drowning.

But the girl’s gaze flicks right back to me, and my entire existence glitches.

She sees me.

I know it before she even opens her mouth. Her pupils aren’t blank and glazed over like every other living person who usually just walks past me. They lock. They focus. They hold.

She's the fourth person to be able to see me.

Fuck.

“You…” She breathes out slowly. “You were standing by the water when I woke up.”

I can practically feel the shift in the air—the way the guys go from mildly intrigued to intensely alert. Talon straightens, his smirk slipping like he just realized the joke’s on him. Cassian’s fingers twitch, like he’s about to pull a weapon on a confused, half-conscious girl—very normal, very casual behavior. Nathaniel, of course, remains disturbingly still, probably already calculating ten different ways this could end in a tragedy.

“You saw her?” Nathaniel asks, his voice eerily calm.

The girl blinks at him, then back at me, her face scrunched up like she’s realizing that she might be, in fact, the only sane person in this whole place at the moment.

“…Yes?” she says, cautiously. Then, as if remembering her manners, she adds, “Thank you all. Really.”

Dead silence.

The sirens outside are getting louder.

We should all be leaving—especially the three very wanted men standing next to me who, ideally, should be avoiding any and all run-ins with law enforcement. But instead of moving, they stay rooted in place.

Like we’re all thinking the exact same thing:

What the fuck is going on?

I know I do.