Auren awoke with a desperate gasp,the Star carved into his face burning hotter with every passing moment he did not answer the call.
The Soul Searcher shoved the thin sheets aside and stood. He tugged on his white cloak, feeling like a soldier preparing for battle as the fabric concealed him. No more tired eyes and sleep-mussed hair—he was an ordained being, bound to the whims of the Celestials.
His scythe glowed where it leaned against the barren walls. He reached for it, but as he saw the bare skin of his hands, he paused. Blood had a way of burrowing into dreams, cracking sanity.
Auren pulled on his gloves, and only then did he grab his scythe.
The glow zipping across the silver blade illuminated the room as he swiped it through the air, letting the scythe guide him.
Auren stepped through the portal.
The metallic scent of fresh blood hit him. His boots splashed in something.
As always, it took him a moment to gain his bearings; such horrors he had been forced to see.
The concrete walls were splattered with blood. This was a massacre.
A body lay cracked open, with entrails strewn like red ribbons. Deep gouges on a face he swore looked familiar…
The thick, iron-scented air coated Auren’s tongue.
An amorphous form hovered, a Soul begging to be reaped. Auren swung his scythe, scattering it into a cloud of dust, like millions of Stars, before disappearing entirely.
"I wish you a safe journey to the Stars," the Soul Searcher murmured, the farewell more routine at this point.
Auren slowly walked closer to the body, stepping over blood, broken chains, and shards of glass.
A man in a blood-soaked lab coat. He had thinning, grey hair.
"Nessen," Auren breathed.
Recognition hit him, replaced by confusion as his gaze swung to a corner, seeing the broken heap of a dead Rogue.
A thick door at his back led to a familiar grey hall. Metal stairs clanged under him as he ascended, ceilings opening to hollow tubes that coiled along the walls to the monitors. At the far side, the warehouse shifted into a garage, filled with every manner of vehicle one running a criminal empire could need.
Auren was still in Rhyden’s base.
Rhyden was trainedto awaken at the slightest of noises.
A soft rap on the door jolted him from a dream he wished he could make reality. His wife, on her back, tied up in his bed, sweat-soaked and flush-cheeked, as she begged and begged—but he never gave her what he wanted.
He was hard as a goddamned rock.
Fuck.
Rhyden grabbed his handgun and stood, adjusting his low-strung black sweatpants as he stalked to the door and pressedhis ear to it. Nothing. He angled his body, gun raised, finger hovering over the trigger. Then he threw the door open, aiming.
"Auren?" Rhyden growled, lowering the gun as he saw the Soul Searcher standing in the dark hall. "The fuck are you doing?"
"I am sorry for disturbing you, but I think you need to come with me."
Rhyden glanced skyward. "Are all Soul Searchers as cryptic as you?" When he lowered his gaze, he found Auren’s eyes were wide, troubled. Rhyden let his attention fall down his cloaked form. The fingers of his white gloves were stained red.
"You need to come see this. It is the doctor."
For one faltering breath, Rhyden thought Auren had meant Lucien. And why did his goddamned heart stutter in his chest? It wasn’t for him, but for his lying little Soulbond, who would be devastated if anything happened to the other man.
"Nessen. He is… dead."
