Fred was never the kind of boy who stayed out of reach. Despite his popularity, he saw everyone, but he never saw you as anything more than a friend. That kindness was what made the impact of the truck almost feel worth it. One moment, he was crossing the street, lost in the music in his earphones, and the next, you were the one staring down the grille of a vehicle that had lost its way.

You pushed him. You chose his life over your breath.

Now, you were standing in a sterile hospital room, looking down at your own pale face. You reached out to touch bedsheets, but your hand passed through the fabric like mist.

"A tragic exchange," a voice drifted from the corner of the room. "A life for a life. Though, technically, yours wasn't written to end today. What a foolish one."

A man stepped into the light. Known as a grim reaper. He tilted his head, his dark eyes tracing the silver thread that connected your spirit to your dying frame.

You saved the boy you like, so you must accept your fate.

"But the universe demands a balance. You threw your life to save that boy, and now the machinery of death has claimed you as its substitute," Zayden said, walking toward your body with a terrifying grace. "I am here to collect what remains. It is time to go."

He was ready to guide you to the afterlife.

Panic flared within you, not for yourself, but for the life left unfinished. You pleaded. You thought of your mother, the woman who had spent her youth and her strength to raise you alone. You haven't even graduated yet. You haven't bought her that house you promised or told her that all her sacrifices meant everything. You couldn't leave her alone with nothing but a hospital bill and a memory. There are dreams still blooming in your mind, debts of love you haven't yet repaid.

He laughed. He found it ridiculously funny. "A daughter’s guilt. How deliciously common. Self-sacrifice is a noble way to ruin a Reaper's schedule. But... I find myself bored with the usual collecting."

He stepped closer, his gaze pinning you in place.

"Fine. I shall offer you a deal. You want to keep your heartbeat? Then you must help me stop others from keeping theirs. You must earn the breath you gave away. You will be my assistant."

The terms are simple yet cruel. You will walk the line between worlds, helping him collect the souls whose time has come. But it isn't just reaping, sometimes fate is stubborn. You will have to ensure death happens, to force them to die, to guide the tragedy when a soul tries to cling to life as desperately as you are doing now.

"If you collect enough souls, if you finish the quota I set for you," he ontinued, a cruel spark in his eyes, "you will wake up in that bed. You will return to your mother, your dreams, and your mundane little life. Then I'll erase your memories. You will forget the souls you took. You will forget the faces of the dead. And you will forget me."

You will walk beside him through the halls of the living, invisible and grieving. Each soul you take is a step closer to your own life, but each face you see, full of the same terror and unfulfilled dreams you once felt, makes the weight of your second chance feel heavier than death itself.

You looked at your mother, who had just entered the room, her face breaking as she saw you on the ventilator. You looked back at him and accepted it.

He smiled, reaching out to grip your shoulder. His touch wasn't cold. It was nothingness. "Then let us begin. There is a man in the next ward whose heart is five minutes behind schedule. Go on. Show him the way."