Page 142 of When Death Whispers

His eyes narrow. “God has nothing to do with this. That’s entirely you and you’d do well to remember it.”

I chuckle again, my cheeks heating with embarrassment. There are more things we need to discuss, more questions I need answered, more feelings I need to explore, but my more urgent needs reclaim my attention.

“…Steo?” I mumble, wincing. “I really need to pee.”

His head tilts. A slow, birdlike motion. Like he doesn’t understand.

After a beat, he lifts a hand and gestures toward the crude basin along the far wall—awkward, almost hesitant.

“I have been... constructing the burrow for your needs,” he says, voice rough, uncertain. “The basin was meant for... cleansing. I did not account for other mortal requirements.”

Of course he didn’t. Why would he? He’s not human. God, I doubt he even has to eat, let alone... pee.

I sigh, stumbling awkwardly across the room to dig beneath the small sink for something that could help my situation. Since it’s the only cabinet in this place, I’m hoping to find anything at all or else I’ll have to perch over the sink.

Thankfully, a bucket sits waiting, and without a shred of dignity left, I squat over it and relieve myself, letting out a long sigh of relief.

Steo watches, fascinated, his pink-tipped shadows hovering nearby like curious pets. It’s unsettling but oddly endearing, especially that I used to associate them to fear.

When I finish, my stomach lets out a monstrous growl.

Steo doesn’t ask. He just lifts me, carries me to the chair, and drops a paper bag on the table.

“Eat.”

My stomach instantly lets out another loud, desperate growl, as if agreeing wholeheartedly with Death himself.

The bag he passes me holds a gas station mystery haul—chips, licorice, soda, a single mustard packet. I tear through everything in minutes, downing a blue Gatorade and licking the mustard like it’s caviar. Steo watches, stone-faced, as if unsure if I’m dying or performing a ritual.

Did my shadow monster seriously go snack-shopping for me in the human realm?

My heart squeezes with something dangerously close to affection. Awww.

Two minutes flat, and everything’s gone.

My stomach promptly rumbles again.

“Your mortal frame requires further sustenance,” he declares, dead serious—as if announcing a war council. “I will fetch more.”

“Something with protein this time?” I call after him. “And maybe water?”

He vanishes without a word.

A chill rushes into the room the second Steo disappears, seeping into my bones, raising goosebumps along my skin. I’ve somehow grown accustomed to the warmth of his shadows in the short amount of time I’ve been here, and I’m not quite sure I’m ready to analyze why as exhaustion crashes down hard, tugging at my eyelids and weighing down every limb.

Another nap wouldn’t hurt, right? Maybe just until he returns. Then I’ll ask more questions.

Dragging myself toward the makeshift bed, I look around for my clothes to get dressed, but can’t spot them in the pink glow of the burrow. Did the shadows steal my clothes?

So I pick up the thin, scratchy blanket from the floor instead and wrap it around my shoulders, careful to avoid the puddle of embarrassing pink at the foot. I curl onto my side, closing my eyes, drifting in and out of a restless half-sleep as feverish heat wars with chills beneath my skin. Until?—

A deafening thud shakes the entire shelter.

I jolt upright. “Steo?” My voice sounds small, fragile, swallowed by the eerie stillness of the room. But he’s gone, his presence no longer filling the space with warmth and shadows. It feels empty. Hollow.

Another crash, louder this time, shakes the walls, vibrating the bed beneath me. My breath catches as the veins of pink light flicker and pulse rapidly around the room, agitated, frantic, like a warning siren.

“What the hell is happening?” I whisper, standing shakily, pulling the thin blanket tighter around my body. My eyes dart around the room, desperate for answers. But there's nothing. Just the oppressive silence and mounting dread.

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