"So, some not-god decided to move up my number? How''s that supposed to work?"


    "It doesn’t," Death said, his tone darkening. "We Eternals have a delicate balance. Each of us has total control over our own domains, but we’re powerless to interfere with one another. If we start tipping the scales too much, we grant what’s called Permissions—a free pass for the others to step in and mess with things too."


    "The problem is, when someone breaks the rules, it’s not like we get a memo of who, how, and where. We just get a feeling—a Permission that lets us step outside our bounds. The more they push, the more room we have to push back."


    Death’s gaze sharpened. "The biggest rule of all is we don’t encroach on each other’s territory. Ever. Which brings us to you, Jack. You’re in a dangerous spot. Someone’s breaking the rules to get to you, and that gives me a little leeway to bend some of the rules myself."


    I leaned against the cab, hands tangled in my hair, trying to make sense of it all. "Why the hell would someone want me dead?"


    "Now that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?" Death said, leaning in, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that chilled me.


    "Someone took you out early, and you better believe they had a damn good reason. If it wasn’t me, and it wasn’t Fate, that leaves us with a very short list of suspects, none of whom you’d want to meet in a dark alley. And trust me, Jack, when someone starts skipping protocol like this, it’s never just about one man. They’re playing a bigger game, with pieces even I can’t see yet. You’re just the first move we’ve caught. And changing someone’s schedule like this? That’s a pretty big move."


    There was a tremor in Death’s voice, the kind that creeps in when you’re staring down the barrel of a gun, but you don’t know whose finger’s on the trigger.


    "Alright, I’ll bite," I said, narrowing my eyes. "Someone wants me—a washed-up Hunter P.I.—out of the way. Why? What could I possibly do that someone with that kind of power would care about?"


    Death threw up his hands in exasperation. "What do you want me to say? It’s destiny—you’re the hero, the chosen one, the protagonist of this twisted tale—the late, great Jack Callaghan, demon hunter and private eye."


    I snorted. "I call bullshit."


    "Oh, of course you do, because it is bullshit. But you’re what we got. You think I’m happy putting this on you?"


    "There are a dozen other Hunters out there far better suited to be a hero than me. Maybe a decade ago, sure, but you’d have better luck grabbing Greyson Shade."


    Death chuckled, a low, dark sound. "Oh, I love that show. We watch it religiously at the office. No, we checked, and Greyson’s not due for..." He stopped mid-sentence, catching the hard edge in my stare.


    "I’m gonna need a little more honesty here."


    "You want honesty?" he asked, leaning in. "Alright, honestly, I didn’t even know who you were until today. Honestly, the only reason I’m here is because someone didn’t want me to be. They slipped up, I got curious, and decided to check things out for myself. If they hadn’t, you’d already have transitioned automatically—swoosh." He made a flushing motion with his hand. "Down the cosmic toilet with the rest of you miscreants. Why’d they cut your thread in particular? No clue. But I know they did, and that means they stepped into my domain without so much as a ‘how’s your mother.’"


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "Alright, I get it. They stepped on your toes. But, for argument’s sake, and just out of curiosity—what if I don’t care?"


    "Excuse me?" Death asked, giving me a sharp look.


    "What if I... don’t... care? Right, wrong, or otherwise, I’m dead. And what you’ve got sounds like a problem for the living. I’ve done my time. What if I want out?"


    "You’re really chapping my ass, you know that?" He glanced up at the sky, his hands flying up in exasperation, fingers pinched, as if the universe itself could see the injustice. "Anybody else, huh? You couldn’t have picked anybody else?"


    "I thought you didn’t believe in God."


    "I specifically didn’t say that. I said ‘I don’t know.’ But if there is a god, he’s got one hell of a sense of humor, cursing me with a walking migraine in the form of an out-of-shape asshole. Listen good, you whiny little ingrate, not everything is about you."


    He leaned in closer for emphasis. "The boundaries between this world and the Otherworld are fraying. Demons are getting bolder, slipping through the Rift more often, and with far too much ease." He nodded at my lifeless body. "Case in point. We’re not just dealing with pups anymore. Whoever snipped your thread is likely the same one tearing open the Rifts," Death said, like he was talking to a child.


    "I didn’t think it’d be this hard to explain... Jack, too much is riding on what happens next. We need you back at the table. The world needs you. It’s your duty."


    "Duty?" I let out a bitter laugh. "I’ve heard that line before—from recruiters, old war buddies, and every damsel in distress who ever crossed my path. ‘Duty’ is just a leash they use to make you think you’ve got a choice. But this time, I do have a choice, and I’m choosing to walk."


    I turned toward the cab, but Death’s hand clamped down on my shoulder, hard. He leaned in, his voice a razor-sharp whisper. "This isn’t about you. It’s not even about me. It’s about the world. And this... this is just the beginning. But if you won’t fight for your world, then fight for Molly’s."


    Cold fury surged through me at the mention of her—how dare he drag her into this? How dare he use her name to pull my strings? But the worst part was, it was working.


    I grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the car. "What do you know about Molly? Talk fast."


    "I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought up your daughter. But," he paused, considering his next words. "—just because she Transitioned doesn’t mean she stopped existing. When souls leave the body, they go where they’re meant to, and honestly, that’s not even up to me. I’m just the driver. But I do know one thing—wherever she is, she wouldn’t want you letting the world fall apart."


    I assessed him, calculating exactly how one might go about killing a not-god.


    "They’re poking holes in the curtain, Jack. And when that curtain falls, it’s lights out for everyone—no matter where they are, this plane or the next." He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in before delivering the final blow. "No Otherworld, no Normies—just a big, empty void. Everyone inside? Gone. Or worse, trapped in eternal torment. Fire, brimstone, death on repeat. You get the picture?"


    I let him go, and Death straightened, smoothing out his cloak as if brushing off cosmic dust before he spoke again.


    "Now, I’m going to let that one slide because you’re in a bad way, and I know this isn’t easy. But if you touch me again, they’ll be picking up pieces of your soul across every dimension of the cosmos. You can’t technically kill a soul, but you can damn sure hide one in tiny bits. Catch my drift?"