Sera's POV
Six months have passed since I became the Pale Judge, and tonight I'm about to kill someone at a party.
Marcus Draven's penthouse is packed with rich people drinking expensive champagne and laughing too loud. They have no idea that the man hosting this party sells cursed objects that destroy lives. I've watched him for three weeks. I've seen the evidence. A necklace that drove a woman to murder her children. A ring that made a man burn down his business with people inside. A mirror that showed a teenage girl such horrible things she jumped off a bridge.
Marcus Draven sells nightmares, and he's gotten rich doing it.
I slip through his balcony door while security guards watch the front entrance. Nobody ever looks up. That's their first mistake.
The second mistake is thinking I'm still human.
My reflection in the glass door shows the truth—my eyes glow silver, and something dark moves behind them. Something that isn't me anymore. Or maybe it is me now. I don't know the difference.
I'm wearing all black, my hair tied back, my face half-covered. The Pale Judge doesn't have a face. Just a purpose.
Target is in his study, the voice whispers in my head. Azrael's voice. The devil who made me what I am. Third door on the left. He's alone, counting tonight's profits.
"How much longer do I have?" I ask quietly.
Fourteen years, seven months, three days. Plenty of time to finish your work.
But it doesn't feel like plenty. It feels like sand slipping through my fingers.
I move through the party like a ghost. People don't see me—not really. It's one of my powers. Unless I want to be noticed, I'm just a shadow in the corner of their vision. A prosecutor by day taught me how criminals think. Being the Pale Judge at night taught me how they die.
Marcus Draven is exactly where Azrael said he'd be. Tall, handsome, wearing a suit that costs more than most people make in a year. He's counting cash and humming to himself. The black marks covering his soul are so thick I can barely see his actual body underneath.
Murderer. Thief. Destroyer of innocents.
My hands don't shake anymore when I see marks like these. They used to. Six months ago, I would have felt sick. Now I just feel... empty. Like someone scooped out everything soft inside me and left only the sharp edges.
"Hello, Marcus," I say from the doorway.
He spins around, reaching for the gun in his desk drawer. But I'm already moving, crossing the room so fast I'm just a blur. I grab his wrist and squeeze until bones crack like dry twigs.
The gun falls. Marcus screams.
"Do you know who I am?" I ask. My voice sounds strange. Cold. Dead.
Marcus's face goes white. "The Pale Judge. Oh God, you're real."
"God has nothing to do with me." I squeeze harder, and he drops to his knees. "But the devil does. And he's very interested in you."
My eyes flash silver, and Marcus starts screaming for real now.
He's seeing things I can't see—ghosts of everyone he's hurt. The woman who killed her children. The man who burned alive. The teenage girl who jumped. They're all surrounding him, reaching for him with dead hands.
This is my gift. My curse. I make evil people see their sins come to life.
"Please!" Marcus sobs. "I'll give you anything! Money! Power! I know things about the supernatural world—secrets that could—"
"I don't want your secrets." I lean closer, and he whimpers. "I want justice."
But then something impossible happens.
The door explodes off its hinges.
A man stands in the doorway, and the air itself seems to scream around him. He's tall with silver-white hair and eyes like blood. Red eyes. Glowing red eyes that see right through me.
And when I look at his soul, I don't see marks.
I see darkness. Pure, absolute darkness shaped like a human being.
Not human. Not even close.
"Let. Him. Go." The man's voice makes the windows rattle.
"Who are you?" I demand, still holding Marcus.
"His brother." The man takes a step forward, and the temperature drops twenty degrees. "And you just made the worst mistake of your very short life."
Power radiates from him like heat from a fire. Real power. Ancient power. The kind that makes my devil-given abilities feel like cheap tricks.
Marcus looks between us, hope and terror fighting on his face. "Kael! Thank God! She's going to kill me!"
Kael. The name triggers memories of my research. Kael Draven. CEO of Draven Industries. Billionaire. Philanthropist.
And apparently, something so far beyond human that even Azrael's voice goes silent in my head.
We stare at each other. Silver eyes meeting red ones. Monster facing monster.
"Your brother is a murderer," I say quietly.
"I know what he is." Kael's voice is soft now. Dangerous. "He's also mine. And you don't get to take him."
The air between us crackles with power. One of us is going to have to back down.
Or one of us is going to die.
I release Marcus, who scrambles away. But I don't take my eyes off Kael.
"This isn't over," I say.
"No," Kael agrees, and something like a smile touches his blood-red lips. "It's just beginning. I know what you are, Pale Judge. And now you're not just hunting monsters."
He takes another step closer, and I feel his power wrap around me like chains.
"Now the monsters are hunting you."
The lights explode. Glass rains down. And when my vision clears, both brothers are gone.
But written on the wall in what looks like liquid shadow are six words that make my blood freeze:
"YOUR DEVIL DIDN'T WARN YOU ABOUT ME."