I expected a void. Or perhaps a waiting room.
When one dies—especially after a life spent dismantling competitors and orchestrating corporate takeovers—one assumes there is some sort of exit interview. I had my arguments prepared.
Instead, I smelled mildew and wet wool.
My eyes snapped open. I wasn't in my penthouse, and I wasn't in a hospital. I was sitting in the velvet-cushioned interior of a rocking carriage. Outside, rain lashed against the wooden panels like handfuls of gravel. The air was cold, damp, and smelled faintly of rot.
I looked at my hands. They were pale, slender, and uncalloused. Not my hands.
I turned to the dark window. The reflection staring back had high cheekbones, jet-black hair slicked back, and eyes that looked perpetually bored. I knew this face. I had seen it in an illustration just last week.
Kaelen Vane.
The third son of the Vane Aristocracy. A minor villain in The Pale Eucharist, a trashy horror novel I had read to pass the time during a long flight. In the book, Kaelen dies in Chapter 4, torn apart by a ghoul because he panicked and tripped over his own feet.
"Pathetic," I whispered. My voice was smooth, deeper than I expected.
Suddenly, the carriage jerked to a violent halt. Outside, the horses screamed—a wet, gurgling sound that was cut short by a sickening crunch.
Then, silence.
I wasn't alone. Sitting opposite me was a young woman dressed in a maid's uniform. Her name, if I recalled the plot correctly, was Nina. She was trembling so hard her teeth were clattering together. Her eyes were wide, fixed on the roof of the carriage.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Something heavy landed on the roof. The wood creaked under the immense weight.
Nina's chest heaved. She was hyperventilating. She opened her mouth to scream.
My mind dissected the situation instantly. The creature outside was a Corrupted, likely a "Listener" given the heavy rain. They are blind, but they hunt by detecting rapid heartbeats and the pheromones of fear. Nina was currently terrified. Her heart was hammering against her ribs so loudly I could almost hear it.
She was no longer a person. She was a beacon.
If she screamed, the creature would break through the roof, and we would both die. If she remained silent, the creature might lose interest and move to the dead horses.
"M-Master Kaelen..." she wheezed, tears streaming down her face. "It's outside. It's going to—"
She was going to scream. It was a physiological certainty.
I didn't feel fear. I didn't feel my pulse rise. I felt only a mild annoyance that my transportation had been interrupted.
I leaned forward. The movement was fluid, casual. Nina looked at me, hope flashing in her wet eyes. She thought I was going to comfort her. She thought I was going to tell her it would be alright.
"Shh," I said gently.
I placed my left hand over her mouth.
Her eyes widened in confusion. Before she could struggle, I slid the silver letter opener I had found in my coat pocket between her ribs. I angled it upward, puncturing the lung to prevent a gasp, and then the heart to ensure speed.
It was a clean, precise motion. Like signing a contract.
She thrashed for three seconds. I held her firm, my expression unchanging, watching the light fade from her eyes. I didn't hate her. I had no malice toward her at all. She was simply a broken gear that was making too much noise.
Her body went limp. The carriage was silent again.
Above us, the heavy weight on the roof paused. It sniffed. It listened. It heard nothing but the rain and the slow, rhythmic beating of my own heart—resting comfortably at sixty beats per minute.
After a tense moment, the creature leaped off the roof and scampered into the darkness to feast on the horses.
I let go of Nina, letting her slide onto the floorboards. I took a handkerchief from my breast pocket and wiped a speck of blood from my glove.
I caught my reflection in the window again. The tie was slightly crooked.
I reached up and adjusted the knot, tightening it until it sat perfectly against my collar.
"Well," I said to the empty, blood-stained carriage. "At least the quiet is back."