She stands at the entrance. Two guards flank her and, from behind her, half a dozen more—like black-clad storm troopers—file into the room, their reflections throwing sprawling wings on the polished floor.

And here, in his ermine-collared coat and his suit of patterned black armour—stands her assassin, Rodolfo Graziani.

“Welcome,” Shinigami says, “to my humble abode.” Her voice is cold. “We’ve been running circles around each other,” she says. “Me hunting you, you hunting me. The inevitability of this moment almost gives me chills.”

I stand with my arms pinned to my sides and stare at her.

“Where is she?” is all I manage to say.

Shinigami raises her eyebrows. “A terse greeting, but understandable. Your friend is, after all, the reason we have the pleasure of your company.”

“She’s here. I know she’s here.”

Shinigami smiles. The smile does not extend to her eyes. “Ana Moon. The one and only. How we are honoured today, Rodolfo.”

The assassin stares at me with cold hate, then bows his head in deference. “We are honoured,” he mumbles.

“Forgive his raw manners,” Shinigami says. “He’s bitter today. His sister, once loyal, fell to the wrong side. As you know.”

“People make mistakes,” I say. “It happens. She made a mistake. And then she made amends.”

“Yes,” Shinigami says. “And paid with her life.”

Graziani makes a sound in his throat.

I clench my fist around the sword’s handle.

Shinigami watches me with untroubled eyes. “Look at you, all that fire in your belly. You have me to thank for that, Ana Moon.”

“You made a mistake too,” I say through gritted teeth. “Your Reaper came for me, but it took Bea. How smart is that?”

Shinigami clasps her hands behind her back and paces the room. Her robe shifts as she walks and I see her sheathed weapon on her back, a black sword—a katana. She pauses at the angled windows and looks out. The rain has stopped and the sun is rising. A huge disc in the sky, diffused golden by the tint in the glass.

Outside, the Reapers fly.

“Useful creatures,” she says. “Delightfully compliant.” She turns and smiles at me. “Yes, they failed to bring you to me. But look. Here you stand.”

I’m not sure how to respond. So I don’t.

“Has it not occurred to you,” she says, “that everything, up until this moment, has been…inevitable?” She shakes her head. “A mistake? There are no mistakes in the multiverse. Merely different paths to the preordained.”

There it is, I think. Her weakness. Pride.

“Ana Moon,” Shinigami says. “You don’t yet know who you are, do you?”

I open my mouth to answer, but no words arrive. I’m not sure how much she knows about the prophecy. Have her spies told her everything?