A sharp pain lanced through Shane's head.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Jake..." he growled.

"We've got another one. Fourth Quarter, the Mantel family. You know where they live?"

Shane pressed his fingertips against his scalp, trying to dull the ache that always came with a telepathic connection.

"You could submit a retrieval request the normal way," he muttered. "Besides, I'm not even on duty yet."

"Waste of time walking all the way over to you. And showing a little initiative wouldn't hurt, would it? They weren't exactly thrilled with you after that false alarm."

Shane suppressed a sigh.

His brother had a point. He still had something to make up for. Apos's bones were already brittle with age—he'd probably appreciate it if Shane picked up the body ahead of time.

"Fine," he said. "But telepathy is supposed to be for emergencies, remember? We still don't know what kind of damage it might cause."

"Oh, quit complaining. I barely use it. There are plenty of theories saying it's actually better for the receiver to get used to it."

Shane snorted.

Sure.

Jake just liked showing off in front of his coworkers.

Telepaths were rare. After graduating, Jake had been flooded with job offers before eventually joining the research team studying the Sleeping Sickness.

Telepathy or not, his contribution hadn't changed much.

At least once a month, another child still slipped into the eternal sleep after a week of raging fever.

The Sleeping Sickness had plagued their community for well over a century. Nearly one in four children never lived to see their twelfth birthday.

It didn't just leave grieving families behind. More and more people had stopped wanting children altogether, terrified they would have to hand them over to him—the Warden of the Dead Bridge —far too soon.

There were no funeral ceremonies.

The dead were taken away under the cover of night, as though pretending they didn't exist could drive the sickness away. Maybe it did keep the fear from burning quite so brightly, if the victims simply disappeared in silence, slipping quietly out of the world.

"I'm on my way."

He closed the book he'd been reading and got to his feet.

By the time he reached the Dead Bridge, dusk had already settled over the valley.

He walked around the hearse and greeted Apos with a nod.

"I got a death report in the Fourth Quarter. Want me to head over now?"

From the driver's bench, the old man smiled at him. "I'd appreciate that, Shane."

Normally, whoever had finished their shift collected the body, but it was much easier for Shane to do it himself. Even if Jake hadn't asked, he would've taken the death cart anyway.

He walked over to the handcart standing in one corner of the fenced clearing, grabbed the shafts, and pulled it toward the row of houses where the Mantel family lived.

He didn't know exactly which house it was, but after he'd passed the first few homes, a door opened and Jake stepped outside.

Shane lifted the lid of the square chest mounted on the cart. He took out a stack of pale blue linen sheets, then the small satchel containing heavy thread, scissors, and the other supplies he needed.

Out of respect for the grieving family, he didn't exchange a word with his brother.

He simply followed him inside.

The members of the research team stepped aside as he entered.

A young girl with an angelic face lay on the table.

A sobbing woman sat on the edge of a bench, held tightly by her husband, who stared numbly at the body of his daughter.

The grief never became easier to witness.

Every single time, he saw Leia instead.

Saw himself kneeling beside her, shaking her motionless body.

"Wake up, Leia! Come on... this isn't funny anymore!"

Desperate tears.

Tormented screams.

Jake grabbing his wrist and pulling him away from their little sister.

"She's dead, Shane. Just like all the others."

There had been tears in Jake's eyes too, but his words had sounded cold. Merciless.

Shane drew a slow breath and forced the memories away.

He had a job to do.

Using the linen sheets he'd brought, he carefully wrapped the girl's body before securing the cloth with the heavy thread.

When he was finished, he bowed his head respectfully to the grieving couple and lifted their daughter into his arms.

She weighed almost nothing.

Just like Leia probably had.

For a strange moment, he felt close to his sister again.

Maybe that was why he'd become a Warden.

Because every time he carried another child, he could pretend he was saying goodbye to Leia once more.

As though she'd never truly left.

Outside, he laid the girl's body gently onto the cart.

Behind him, he could still hear her parents crying.

Without a word, they followed him as he pulled the cart toward the Dead Bridge.

Once there, he stopped beside the black carriage and carefully lifted the wrapped body inside.

The family remained behind the fence.

After climbing down from the driver's bench, Apos rested a hand on Shane's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Have a peaceful watch."

Shane nodded and climbed onto the bench, taking the older Warden's place.

He gathered the reins and flicked them lightly.

The two black horses started forward, pulling the carriage onto the narrow road.

As with every trip across the Dead Bridge, Shane felt tense.

There was only enough room for the two horses abreast. A third could never have fit. If either horse lost its footing, the entire carriage would plunge over the edge with him still on it.

The fact that it had never happened before wasn't especially comforting.

The carriage swayed gently as the horses pulled it toward the far side of the Dead Bridge.

Once they reached the other end, Shane climbed down from the driver's bench and tied the horses to the weathered hitching posts.

The horse on the right let out a soft snort.

A shiver ran down Shane's spine.

Even after all this time, he still couldn't get used to them.

He had no idea where the horses had come from. As far back as anyone could remember, they had walked the Dead Bridge. They were the bridge between the living and the dead.

Wardens like him were the only people permitted to come into direct contact with them.

Every other member of the community kept their distance.

The only other animals Shane knew existed were insects.

And birds—every now and then, one would dare to cross over from the land of the dead.

But creatures with fur, scales, or smooth skin simply didn't exist in his world.

Or at least, not among the living.

Sometimes he thought he caught glimpses of something furry moving between the trees here, on this side of the realm of the dead—a place he could only enter after nightfall.

Fortunately, the monsters always kept their distance.

Even so, he had to be careful.

This was where the dead dwelled, alongside everything else that belonged to the darkness.

Shane activated the disc launchers strapped around his wrists.

They looked almost like wristwatches, except that instead of a clock face they bore a round black control plate. All he had to do was press the button, and the devices would launch blazing discs capable of paralyzing any monster they struck.

At least... That was the theory.

Shane had never actually needed to find out.

Spade in hand, he walked about thirty feet away from the Dead Bridge.

White pebbles marked the resting places of the girl's ancestors, though many had long since disappeared beneath the relentless forest. The woods paid no respect to the dead, covering everything without discrimination.

The hairs on the back of Shane's neck rose as he walked between the looming trees.

The silence was absolute.

Against it, his own tense breathing sounded almost deafening.

You've done this dozens of times.

You've never encountered a monster.

The realm of the dead opens its gates so you can do your work. For centuries, there's been an unspoken agreement between the two realms that this exchange is allowed.

Even so, his muscles remained tight.

He drove the spade into the earth, pressed it down with his foot, and began to dig.

Shovelful after shovelful landed beside him with dull, heavy thuds.

After roughly a hundred scoops, the grave was finally deep enough.

He returned to the carriage, carefully lifted out the girl's wrapped body, and carried her into the wilderness.

He lowered her into the grave with far more care than was necessary.

Then he filled it in again.

Resting both hands on the top of the spade, he stretched his aching back.

Somewhere in the distance, a long, mournful howl echoed through the trees.

Shane froze.

He yanked the spade from the ground and held it ready.

Squinting into the darkness, he searched between the twisted trunks, straining to catch the first sign of whatever predator that cry might have belonged to.

Nothing happened.

Nothing at all.

Not even a breeze stirred the branches.

The air itself seemed unnaturally thick, hanging motionless between the trees.

Unease settled deeper into his stomach.

He crouched and placed a white pebble at the head of the fresh grave.

Then he turned and hurried back toward the horses.

The feeling of being watched refused to leave him.

Every few steps he glanced over his shoulder, reassuring himself that he was still alone.

His pace quickened.

Even after the cliff's edge came into view, he kept walking faster.

I need to get out of here.

His heart hammered against his ribs.

Something dark seemed to surge toward him across the forest floor, like black water spilling between the trees.

The last few yards he broke into a run.

He nearly stumbled climbing onto the driver's bench before grabbing the reins.

"Back!" he called, his voice cracking.

He rose to his feet, looking over the roof of the carriage.

The darkness he'd felt rushing toward him seemed unwilling to cross the tree line.

Even so, Shane wanted to be gone.

Now.

He snapped the reins once more.

The horses whinnied softly before stepping back onto the Dead Bridge, carrying him toward the land of the living.

Toward home.

Only after he had crossed the bridge, unhitched the carriage, climbed back onto the driver's bench, and confirmed that nothing from the darkness had followed him did his heartbeat finally begin to settle.

He let out a quiet breath.

He wished Cillian were here.

He'd never imagined his friend would actually stay away, but ever since the night Shane had sounded the false alarm, Cillian hadn't come to keep him company during his night watches.

Shane missed their conversations.

Missed that perpetual grin.

Missed the warmth of having someone beside him.

Without him, the nights seemed four times as long.

If only he'd inherited Jake's gift of telepathy.

Then they could at least have talked from a distance.

But that gift had never been his.

He possessed no special ability.

All he could do was endure these endless watches alone.

He tried to ignore the disappointment that Cillian had truly stayed away.

This is for the best.

Stop complaining.