Page 122 of Behind the Shadows
“Hey,” I said, closing the door behind me, the loud click echoing finality. “Thanks for meeting me.”
If they’d been playing cards or telling jokes, it all stopped. Every eye landed on me, and to my surprise, I didn’t flinch. I never called a meeting, so the moment I fired off the group text they knew some serious shit was going down. They were right.
“You’re late,” Death said, like it was a crime as big as murder. He spoke with a casual indifference that made people forget he meant every word literally.
Dope appeared exhausted as he clenched a can of off-brand energy drink. Ella watched me like a hawk, a half-chewed pen cap dangling from her mouth.
No one moved. Four heartbeats in a vacuum. I studied the grain of the wood floor, counting cracks where stories might live, then looked up at them.
I wiped my palms on my jeans, felt the sweat clinging like guilt. Then I said it.
“I fucked up.”
Maybe if I’d shouted it, it would have sounded more heroic. Instead, I felt the walls compressing in.
Death pinned me with a deadly stare.
“Fucked up how?” Ella asked, her question was soft but guarded.
I dragged my hand through my hair and tried to name the feeling twisting my insides. Guilt, plus another thing—horror, maybe, or inevitability.
I stood in front of the empty fireplace, my fists clenched at my sides, and for a second, I didn’t know how to start. How could I admit I’d been the weapon all along?
“It was the cross,” I said, voice low.
Dope blinked. “What was?”
I looked at my shoes, stalling. There was no other way to do this than blurt it out. “The one I wore every fucking day. I thought it was hers, and I wore it as a reminder—a scar.” My throat tightened. “Turns out it was … the Pied Piper’s.”
Ella sat up straighter. “What are you talking about?”
I turned to look at them. My family. The only people I had left.
“I was his camera.” The words cut like glass.
Dope’s hand froze halfway to his mouth. Ella’s mouth parted. Even Death blinked. That’s when it landed: what I’d said.
“Everywhere I went, every kill I helped with, every time I walked into a room—he saw it. Heard it. Through me. Through the goddamn cross.”
Death’s chair scraped across the hardwood floor as he stood. “You’re fucking joking.”
I met his glare. “You think I would make this shit up?”
“You let him spy on us,” he growled.
“I didn’t let anything happen,” I snapped. “I didn’t know. He had that tech on me before I even knew what the hell I was.”
Dope leaned forward slowly, his expression turning grave. “The tech’s real. My guess is that he used audio nodes, micro transmitters, signal-activated triggers. Most of it is undetectable unless you break it apart. Honestly, I wouldn’t know for sure until I saw it. But it’s possible. More than possible.”
He looked at me, eyes sharper than I’d ever seen them. “He embedded you.”
“Guess I was born prepped to bleed,” I muttered.
Death stepped toward me, rage rolling off him in waves. “You could’ve told us sooner.”
“I didn’t know sooner.”
He scoffed. “You expect me to believe that? That for years?—”
