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He must’ve been, right? Feromas wouldn’t still be Damian’s reaper if he thought the man was completely gone.

Agh. Or would he? Feromas was something of a special case. He was directly related to his servant by blood. Feromas’ great grandson. And while the reaper may not have demonstrated much genuine affection, as far as Parson could recall, perhaps there was still a deeper level of attachment that was simply never voiced.

An irrational hope.

What else could possibly explain the reaper not releasing Damian’s soul after what happened forty years ago? Parson couldn’t fathom any other justification.

It didn’t help that he’d seen other such cases, as well, even from reapers who had no blood relation.

Reapers were still human, after all. Or used to be, at least. They still retained all the same psychological vulnerabilities.

The same inability to let go, long after they knew they should.

“Stop lookin’ at Feromas like that,” said Damian. “If you’ve got somethin’ to say, then say it. Stop being a coward.”

Hmph. Maybe he had a point. It had been too long. Parson had gotten too comfortable dancing around subjects instead of addressing them directly. If he was being totally honest, that was one of the things he missed most about his friend here. Damian had been one of the very few people whom Parson could be straightforward with.

They’d simply known each other too long and too well to be anything else.

“You’re behaving surprisingly sane,” said Parson. “It’s been days now, and you still haven’t said anything completely psychotic yet.”

Damian snorted. “Maybe I’m just working up to it.”

“I bet you are.” He looked to Feromas again. “Is he normally lucid for this long?”

The reaper noticed Damian look at him, too. ‘...No,’ said Feromas. ‘This is unusual.’

God. Parson was already kicking himself. Stop hoping, idiot. It wasn’t going to end well. It never did.

But he couldn’t help himself.

“...Do you think Germal’s death might have something to do with it?” said Parson.

‘The thought has crossed my mind, yes.’

“You think the little punk was keeping me crazy all these years, huh? Hmph. Of course you’d think that. You always did see the worst in people, didn’t you?”

Parson might’ve made an expression of utter disbelief if the muscles on his withered face still worked. “I don’t see how you, of all people, have any right to tell me that. Of the three of us, you were always the most bitter and jaded.”

“No. I was just the most confrontational. You’re the one who kept quiet when things actually got to you. You let bad ideas change your mind. Your deeply held values. Instead of having a conversation and figuring things out. Which is why you’re both a dumbass AND a coward.”

This fucking prick.