Sneak Peek - Next chapter

The city needs Éoin.

Not to lay out the dead with careful hands, not to whisper the old rites over stone-cold bodies—but to stand between the living and the tide of ruin threatening to drown them all. The irony isn’t lost on them. The Yskari family has always been tolerated at arm’s length, their presence in the Bronze District met with a mix of superstitious dread and pragmatic acceptance. Necessary, yes. Welcome? Never.

They are the keepers of thresholds, the tenders of endings. Servants of Death.

And in a city like Solarys—where the Church’s grip is iron and its judgment swift—those who walk with death are viewed with uneasy suspicion. The pious clutch their holy symbols tighter when a Yskari passes, mothers pull their children closer, and shopkeepers make warding signs behind their backs even as they pay for the family’s services to have their dead put to rest.

"Grudging tolerance," Éoin muses, unable to keep their tone from sounding bitter. That’s all they’ve ever earned. If their fathers could see them now…

Even now, with the streets teetering on the brink of chaos, the living would rather avert their eyes than acknowledge the debt they owe to those who handle the dead, but it doesn’t matter.

Duty isn’t something someone should do for gratitude. It’s something you do because there’s no one else.

Éoin pauses at the threshold, their gaze lingering on the shadowed stairwell that descends into the mortuary’s silent depths. The air smells of old wood and preserving salts. With a slow exhale, they turn toward the door where their worn leather suitcase waits, its straps buckled tight and secure.

"Now, girl," Éoin murmurs, voice roughened by long hours of disuse. Their calloused hand finds the curve of Sophia’s chin, scratching just beneath her whiskers the way she likes. "I need you to hold down the fort while I’m gone. Keep the shadows in their corners. Chase off any rats, living or otherwise."

The cat blinks up at them, golden eyes luminous in the dim foyer. Her tail flicks once, regal and unimpressed, before she delivers a languid mrrp that vibrates through her round body. It’s not quite confirmation, not quite protest. Just acknowledgment.

Éoin’s mouth quirks. She’ll do as she pleases, as always. The house will still be standing when they come back. They're sure. In the meantime, they have living people to save from becoming their next clients.

The door clicks shut behind the young mortician.