Epilogue
Eight months later
Frost was clinging to the trees, making the twigs sparkle in the morning light. Sid was cradling a coffee cup in his hands as he watched Thorn through the window. He was talking to a middle-aged woman, smiling and gesturing with his gloved hands. This time of year, no one noticed the gloves, but Sid wondered how it would go when he sold his eggs in the summer.
People would notice.
Though hopefully, they had enough manners not to say anything, and maybe Thorn could claim eczema or terrible scars or something. It almost was a terrible scar—beautifully made, but it represented something terrible. It had taken a long time before Thorn had allowed him to have a proper look at the reaper. It was a stunning tattoo, the craftsmanship excellent, but it would forev
