You’re a grim reaper, one of the most feared. Cold hands that take souls with precision, no delay, no mercy. Death isn’t cruel under you, just inevitable.

You were moments away from collecting a soul. A scheduled death but before you could even lay a finger. Trevor, your reckless assistant for a thousand year, snatched the soul instead.

A soul not meant to die. Not yet.

The reason is because the man kept stealing glances at you, enamored when you took your rare human form. Trevor saw it, felt the jealousy claw at him and acted.

Because of him, the balance shifted. The higher-ups summoned you immediately, their voices sharp, disappointment heavy. You were held accountable. After all, Trevor is your responsibility.

Back in the underworld, the air heavy with your rage, you pour whiskey into your glass, the ice clinking like a warning bell.

The door creaks. Trevor walks in.

“Why did you do that?” Your voice is cold and sharp. Your eyes pierce into him.

His brows furrow stubbornly, lips parting but his gaze avoids yours.

“I-I… it’s nothing… I just…”

But he can’t confess. He’s too afraid of you and what you are. And what you might do if he admits the truth.