Avalyn jumped, pressing a hand to her chest as she spun around.
He was there. The stranger. The impossibly beautiful, terrifying man who had haunted her thoughts since the courtyard.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you," he said, but the grin on his face suggested he wasn't sorry at all.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, eyes darting around.
He held up her keys on a single slender finger, tilting his head as if daring her to scold him.
"Give them," she snapped, yanking them from his grasp. Her hands shook. Sunlight caught his silver eyes, turning them liquid and dangerous. And somehow, impossibly, even brighter than the night before.
"Are you going to invite me in, or just stare?" he asked.
"I'm… sorry. Who are you?"
He smiled, faintly amused. "God of Death. Makes sense, doesn't it?"
"I—excuse me?" Avalyn tried to block him, but he walked past her, pushing the door open as if her protests were irrelevant.
"No, no, you cannot stay here," she said, following him inside.
Rey ignored her, scanning the room with a predatory curiosity before settling on the couch, legs crossed over the small wooden table. He gestured for her to sit.
"What are you doing in my house?" she asked, trying to sound calm.
"I wanted to talk. About you," he said simply.
She blinked. "About… me?"
"Yes," he replied, casually, as though saying her name explained everything.
She moved to the kitchen, reaching for the largest knife she could find, and returned to stand in front of him.
"What's that for?" he asked, tilting his head.
"For your stupid ideas," she snapped, gripping the handle tight enough to whiten her knuckles.
He chuckled, a sound that rolled through the room and made her pulse spike.
"I'm serious. Try me," she said.
Before she could react further, he was in front of her—too fast, too fluid. Inches from her face, and yet… he didn't touch her. He didn't flinch at the knife.
She dropped it. His expression softened, and to her shock, he smiled.
"You live here alone?" he asked, eyes sweeping the room.
"With my sister," she replied cautiously. "She's away."
"And where is she?" he pressed, stopping by a framed photograph.
"With our father, I think," she stammered, unsure why she was answering.
"Ever feel… not quite yourself? Lost? Like parts of your memory are missing?" he asked, voice low, almost hypnotic.
Avalyn blinked. Therapist? Ghost? Death? She didn't know which to be more afraid of.
"What's your name?" she asked, more for comfort than curiosity.
"Rey," he said simply, over her shoulder as if she'd asked something mundane.
She frowned. "Do you usually barge into strangers' homes?"
Rey tilted his head, silver eyes glinting with amusement. "More than you could ever imagine."
Avalyn's hand shot out to slap him—but he caught her forearm mid-air, his grip firm but not cruel. "I would advise against that," he said, voice low, dangerous.
"Just who are you? You follow me, taunt me, scare me, and now you're just… standing here?" she demanded.
He didn't move. His gaze locked on hers, unwavering, impossible to look away from.
She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly, wishing he would vanish. When she opened them, he was still there.
"I told you who I am," he said. "You just… refuse to accept it. As if you refuse a lot of things."
Relief flooded her when he finally stepped toward the door, and she let out a shaky breath.
"Rey," he said, pausing at the threshold.
"What?"
"My name. Remember it."