The wind howled past her ears as she fell.

The pain in her back pulsed with every heartbeat—hot, sharp, and betraying. Her blood trailed behind her like ribbons in the sky, stark against the stars. She tried to scream, but the air stole it from her lips. Below, the ground rushed closer, dark and uncaring. Above, the ledge grew smaller. So did the figure who pushed her.

She had trusted him. That was her final mistake.

And yet, the thought that haunted her in those last moments wasn’t the pain or the betrayal. It was the silence she’d leave behind. No mourning cry. No frantic search. No candles, no flowers. No one would even know she was gone.

She’d disappear like a breath on glass.

I didn’t matter, she thought bitterly.

But then—everything stopped.

Not the falling. Not the pain.

Time itself.

Suspended midair, her body frozen, blood droplets hanging like crimson pearls. Even her thoughts paused, caught in some strange vacuum between one heartbeat and the next.

And then he was there.

A figure cloaked in smoke and shadow, eyes glowing like twin moons behind a bone-white mask.

Ghost. The God of Death.

He hovered inches from her, solid in the air where nothing else could be. His hand reached out, gloved fingers brushing her cheek with unexpected gentleness. She could feel warmth radiate from him, despite the chill of the grave that clung to his name.

“You weren’t supposed to die today,” he said, voice like velvet and grave dust.

She couldn’t speak. Not with time frozen. But her eyes met his, and something shifted. Not in the world—within him.

“I know you,” he murmured, tilting his head. “You’re… mine.”

Her confusion must have shown, because he almost smiled.

“I’ve seen you in the threads. In dreams that aren’t mine. In the river that feeds the underworld, your name echoes too early.”

His thumb moved to the edge of her lips, wiping away blood.

“I’ve followed countless souls,” he continued. “Guided kings and killers, mothers and monsters. Never have I broken the rule.”

She knew of the rule. Death does not interfere. Death does not save.

But then he leaned closer. The golden glow of his eyes dimmed, something like anguish flickering behind the mask.

“Not until now.”

A tremor passed through the sky. Reality groaned. The stars bent. The wind stirred again, but differently—wilder.

“I won’t let you fall.”

With that, he pressed his palm to her chest.

Time snapped forward.

She gasped.

Air surged into her lungs, hot and sharp, and pain flared as her body reversed course. One moment she was dying; the next, she lay in Ghost’s arms on the forest floor beneath the cliff.

Alive. Barely.

The wound in her back still burned, but it was no longer fatal. The blood still trickled, but her heart beat strong.

Ghost knelt beside her, his form now more solid, less spectral. His mask had cracks—fine lines splintered across the surface like old porcelain.

“You saved me,” she whispered hoarsely.

“I broke everything to do it,” he replied, no regret in his voice.

She struggled to sit. “Why?”

Ghost was silent for a long time, as if measuring truths too heavy for mortal ears. When he finally answered, his voice trembled with something too ancient and too tender to name.

“Because the underworld isn’t ready for you. I’m not ready.”

Her breath hitched.

“You’ve been alone too long,” he said. “Hunted. Hurt. Forgotten. They thought no one would care. They were wrong.”

His hand reached down, helping her to her feet. “I’ll give you what you need to return. Strength. Time. Power, if you ask for it.”

She stared up at him. “Why help me?”

The edges of his mask flared faintly with heat. “Because you deserve to finish your story, not end it with betrayal. And when it’s over… when your vengeance is sated, and the world remembers your name…”

He lifted her hand to his masked lips.

“I’ll be waiting. Not as death. As yours.”