Page 144 of Grim

Strengthened by my defiance, even in the face of death, my second utterance is a marble statue of my reckless madness. “Mayday,” I declare with stony certainty.

In my final stubborn moment, I give in to hope and allow myself to believe. One more cry for help, and I shall be saved. Kane will appear, and all will be right. My dad will ride in on a phantom vessel and whisk us all away. My own words will leap from the page and protect me from being forgotten.

My story will end with the happiest of ever afters if only I can …

The thought dies on the vine, never destined to become anything other than shriveled and dry.

I see the glint of Asher’s blade against the moonlight before I can pronounce the word a final time.

InthePaleMoonlight

Mayday.

I silently voice Rue’s final word. A word that became an endearment, a battle cry, a lament. And now, those two sad syllables dig into the center of my hollow chest and burst back out, shattering me into a rainbow of agony.

The viewing screen ripples out from the middle in liquid obsidian, then goes dark.

I look down at my hands as they tremble. I watch as something wet lands in my right palm. A droplet, followed by another. Reaching up to my face, I touch the result of my heartbreak.

I am crying.

“And that’s all you need to see of that!” Time declares.

“The End,” Fate chimes in. She sniffles theatrically, looking at her sister. “Such beautiful writing. What a wonderful send-off. Some of your most dramatic work.”

“Haunting,” Big D growls, though there is no joy in his voice.

“Where is she?” There is nothing but steel in my throat.

“In Asher’s very capable hands, Kane,” Fate announces condescendingly.

“Take me to ALP. Take me to Rue. Now.” I boom thefinal word with enough force to rattle the walls of D’s office.

“Thought only I could do that,” he says to himself, though my attention stays locked firmly on the Weaver Sisters.

“Mortals’ pathetic insistence that their feelings matter always makes me smile.” Fate giggles softly.

“Time cares not for your moods.”

“And Fate wrests final control. Always.”

“‘Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains.’” D repeats the quote from earlier with sad sagacity.

“No,” Fate snipes. “Mortals belong to us. We are the only authors, and each soul but a splotch of ink on our pages. Freedom is a phantom. Only the chains are real.”

I am no longer crying. My mind has cleared to a single thought. I have become the final sustained note thrumming at the end of a song. I am a hurricane with no eye. I am that most dangerous of creatures.

“If this place has taught me anything, it’s that true freedom means having nothing left to lose,” I declare in a menacing monotone. “And I have nothing left to lose. So, explain this.”

I do not hesitate.

I pull outBaiulusfrom my pocket, depressing the silver button, releasing the shank from its center, and driving the blade directly into Fate’s center. She gasps—just once—but that’s all I allow. I rip my blade from her chest before replacing it with my fist. I feel bones crack and ribs splinter as her body collapses beneath the weight of my wrath. Her throat is in my hand before she can conjure another word, and I watch her squirm, watch her lips try to cry out for help.

“Feels pretty free to me,” I whisper, voice trembling with rage and grief and the sharp edge of something I can no longer name. “You soulless monster.”

I snap her neck just as Time tries to disappear into vapor. I reach into the mist and yank her back. My fingers curl around her throat, and she claws at me, eyes wide, lips forming my name.

“And you,” I murmur, tightening my grip until she gags, “where does this fit on your precious timeline?”