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Micah strode down the hospital corridor, the lights dimming to darkness as he approached. Their warmth devoured by the coldness of his presence only to flutter back to brightness as he passed. At first, he’d convinced himself that he could feel that heat for one fleeting instant, but that’d been a dream of a memory he no longer had. Angels of Death were not allowed to remember past lives. It was the first thing the gods took when they recruited the dead.
He pretended that he didn’t miss the warmth of life—sunshine, a blanket, a fire. Feelings like that were for newbies. He’d been lectured for centuries to stop wanting things he couldn’t have and to accept his existence as it was. No pain. No torment. No decisions. Nothing but darkness and death.
He didn’t need to glance at the
