Before You Let Go
My blood went cold.
I turned slowly.
Death stood beside the tea shelf, wearing his white barong like he belonged between green tea and chamomile. He was holding a box of ginger tea, studying it with mild disappointment.
“Seriously?” I hissed. “Grocery store?”
Nica stared at him. “Sino siya?”
Death looked at her and smiled politely. “A family friend.”
“No, you’re not,” I said.
Nica blinked. “Ang weird niya.”
“Correct,” I muttered.