Page 24 of Grim

Heat crawls up my neck, spreading across my cheeks like wildfire. His voice is rich and rough, kissed by a British accent and smooth as the grin playing on his lips. I blink. Kane steps in front of me so abruptly that I nearly trip. His back acts as a wall between me and the stranger.

“Rue,” he growls in a low warning.

“Ah.” The man—Asher, I am assuming—straightens, his smile widening while peering over Kane’s shoulder and sweeping his dark eyes over me like he’s memorizing every detail. “This must be the special case Big D was going on about with Fate.”

“Don’t.” Kane’s voice is pure venom, but Asher just raises a perfectly arched brow.

“Relax, old friend.” Asher’s grin is lazy, dripping with charm. “I’m just introducing myself; after all, what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t?”

Kane’s jaw clenches so hard that I’m surprised his teeth don’t shatter.

“Rue, was it?” The man’s gaze locks on to mine, and there’s something in his eyes—something warm and inviting, like stepping into the sunlight after a long, cold night. “I’m Asher. A pleasure.”

“Uh … hi.” I blink, trying to remember how to function.

Asher’s grin deepens. “Charming and beautiful. Kane’s been holding out on me.” Asher goes to grab the hand unoccupied by Kane’s tightening grip .

Kane barks, “Off limits,” while pulling me back.

Asher’s smile never falters as he steps back. “Just wanted to see if it was true, is all. Not a worry, Doc.”

“Doc?” I snicker, causing Kane’s eyes to dart my way. “And you hate Grim as a nickname? Doc?”

“All right, Asher.” Kane’s voice is like ice, his body tense as he ignores me. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Of course, Grim .” Asher winks at me before turning back to the wreckage. “But you might want to keep an eye on your girl. I’m waiting for the Sisters to arrive. Once they make their grand entrance, we’ll get this party started.”

I blink. What does that mean—Sisters?

Kane must sense my question, but doesn’t allow me to voice it. He just grabs my arm and steers me toward the wreckage, his grip a little tighter than necessary.

“What’s his deal?” I ask, casting a glance over my shoulder at Asher.

“Don’t.” Kane’s voice is low, dangerous.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t encourage him.”

“Who said I was encouraging anything?”

“You looked at him like you would have given him a kidney.”

“Didn’t look like he needed a kidney,” I mutter under my breath.

“What did you say?” Kane grates out.

I blink, surprised by the edge in Kane’s voice.

“Are you …” I trail off, a slow grin tugging at my lips. “Are you jealous?”

Kane’s jaw tightens. “No.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not terrible at anything.”

I look at the dead body next to me, and suddenly, I’m filled with shame. I forgot for a moment what they’re here to do. They act so casual that it’s easy to lose sight of the enormity of their assigned task.

“Stop looking at him,” he mutters.

“Why?” I manage out weakly as I look at the shocked look frozen on the man’s bloodied face.

“His fundamental essence is still trapped inside that body. You looking at him is only going to scare him more. The more scared they are, the harder they are to reap.” Kane pulls an obsidian handle from his breast pocket.

Where did that come from?

I note the small silver nub on the side and realize it’s a switchblade. He deploys and retracts the long silver knife’s edge several times before returning it to his pocket. I whip my head up to him in shock.

“His soul is in there, crying out for help?”

Kane winces as he nods. “Yes, they’re all very loud.”

“So, help him!” I say frantically while trying to pry myself from Kane’s firm grasp.

He jerks me back to him and pulls me around the bus, where there is no one standing. “I can’t let go of you. Stop trying to remove your fucking hand from mine,” he growls out.

I look at him and raise my brow. “Why?”

“Because you’re alive, remember? When we are physically connected, I can pass my spectral energy to you, rendering you invisible to the other living souls in a space. You let go, they will see you, and you will be told to leave. Actually, that might not be the worst idea.”

“Shut up.” I shove his chest. “Help them, Kane! You can’t let them suffer like this.”

“Mayday, you think I enjoy this? I’m a reaper, not a monster. I want these souls to cross over. I do not get off on pain.”

I side-eye him, remembering the way he absorbed the impact of my firm pinching of his flesh at the house earlier.

“Not all the time anyway,” he amends before continuing, “But if The Sisters are coming, we can’t.”

“The Sisters?”

“Time and Fate. One controls the when , the other the how . They show up during instances like this to make sure all souls are properly accounted for.”

“Really?”

“Yes, it happens often. So many stories having their endings written at once requires direct supervision. Fate’s loom moves down to create a new tapestry every so often and the results are—”

I cut Kane off, “Catastrophic. Kata, strophē. A downturning.” I mime the twisting of the wheel.

“Very good, Rue. So, you do know how to listen. There may be hope for you yet,” Kane praises, and while I’m surrounded by this carnage, it shouldn’t send a dopamine rush, but it does.

“But these events can be a logistical nightmare,” Kane continues.

“So many souls to process and cross in such a short amount of time. One slip from a reaper, one miscut of the soul from the body before going to the OtherWorld can ripple and alter pivotal moments in the future of both realms. So, we wait so they can oversee the reaping.”

“So, these Sisters, they make the rules then? Did they tell you to bring me back?”

“No. Actually …”

I jump at the strong female voice and look to see a powerful woman standing next to us. Her long flaxen hair travels past her large breasts. Her skin is bronzed, and her dark eyes look at me in a way that makes me wish I could be invisible from her too.

“Time,” Kane mutters, and I watch her lip curl.

“Dr. Kane Deveraux. My, my, my, it’s been far too long.”

“Funny. I was thinking it hadn’t been nearly long enough.” Kane’s tone is clipped, a blend of defiance and fear.

Time doesn’t move. She flows. Everything about her is smooth, graceful, and deliberate. She stands with a kind of poise that makes me feel like I’m a clumsy kid tracking mud across a marble floor.

Her iridescent gown is a shimmering gold that moves like liquid sunlight, swirling around her generous curves, as if it were a living thing. Her skin is flawless, kissed by a thousand sunsets, and her dark eyes stare straight into me.

“Ah.” Time tilts her head, eyes narrowing. “So, this is the one who shouldn’t be.”

I feel my spine straighten, instinctively defensive under her scrutiny. “Excuse me?”

“Rue Chamberlain.” Her lips curl into a slow, knowing smile. “You’ve caused quite the disruption to my symphony, my dear.”

I glance at Kane before looking back toward her .

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, forcing my voice to stay steady.

“She means,” another voice purrs, silky and venomous, “that your thread was severed, your fate sealed. And yet here you are. Alive .”

The temperature drops.

“But I thought you just mentioned music,” I state shakily.

“That”—she clips the ending T sound with powerful effectiveness—“is Time. She is the poet, and I, Fate, am the painter. While she conducts, I weave; while she performs, I sculpt.”

Fate towers over me, cold and unyielding. Time amplifies her sister’s energy.

Fate’s presence is razor-sharp. Her dress is midnight blue, threaded with silver, as though the fabric itself were woven from the night sky.

Her jet-black hair falls in thick waves over her shoulders.

Her lips are painted a deep, rich red, the color of crushed roses.

Her icy eyes, filled with menacing rage, pin me in place.

“Fate,” Kane murmurs, his voice a low warning.

“Kane,” Fate replies, her tone dripping with disdain. “A mess still follows everywhere you go, I see.”

I don’t like her.

Not one bit.

“Mess?” I echo, my voice sharper than I intended. “Is that what I am to you?”

Her gaze locks on to mine, and I swear I feel the air around us tighten.

“Don’t flatter yourself, mortal.” The word is spit like an insult. “You’re not special. You’re a glitch. A mistake.”

My stomach drops.

“Fate.” Time’s voice is softer, but there’s an edge to it. A warning.

“Don’t,” Kane growls, stepping closer to me—between me and Fate. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Didn’t you?” Fate’s smile is lethal.

“Enough.” Time’s tone cuts through the tension like a knife. “We’re not here to litigate Kane’s actions.” She turns her gaze toward the wreckage. “We have a job to do.”

Fate does not heed her sister’s recrimination though. Her gaze remains fixed on me. “I should cut your thread right here.” Her voice is tight, taut with anger. “She altered the tapestry. My vision,” Fate roars to all who can hear.

“She didn’t do it.” Kane’s grip on my hand tightens. “I did.”

“She doesn’t belong,” Fate snarls.

I can’t breathe. Is Fate doing that, or am I just nearing my physical breaking point?

“Enough.” Kane’s voice is lethal.

His body tenses beside me, and for a moment, I swear the air crackles.

“You may weave the tapestry, but you still need the threads. You cannot sculpt without a chisel, nor can you paint without a brush.” Kane’s voice rises with commanding authority on each line.

He glares at her hovering form. “You still need me, Fate. The higher-ups still need the reapers. Is this a war you’re willing to start? ”

There is a long silence before Fate sighs, relenting.

“You’re right, Kane.” Fate’s lips curl into a cold smile. “I do need you. For my dirty work. So, I suppose I’ll keep you for now. But the thread is fraying, Doctor. And when it snaps …”

Fate glares at Kane for a moment longer before finally shifting her attention to the scene before us.