L Handwriting Death Note Novels & Stories

"Oh, it's just pickles, sardines, and Nutella.” My eyes widen. I've been craving these things the past few weeks. And there's only one person who knows about it. "Ooh! Found a note," she says and gives it to me. "What does it say?" The handwriting is distinct, with bold, looping letters and a slight slant to the right. It's immediately recognizable: Bill's handwriting. "Told you, I'd handle it," I read aloud. "There's also a little smiley at the end." I point to the smiley and show it to her.

Journal Eight has already begun. The handwriting… Wasn’t Elaine’s. It was Noah’s.

My eyes sting so hard I blink, and even that feels like it costs something. My hand reaches for the photo like none of this could possibly be real. But my fingers touch the paper, and the heat in my chest swells until I can’t keep it in. I flip it over, hoping I’m wrong, hoping there’s nothing on the other side. But there is. Written in sharp black ink are three words. The Holts—done. The handwriting hits me harder than the image. Not because it’s cruel. Not because it’s cold. But because it’s familiar. I know every curve of those letters. I’ve watched him write out kill orders, inventory lists, financial ledgers with that same, notably distinct, handwriting.

‎ ‎Zayden didn’t speak. ‎ ‎He just stepped closer and handed me the note. ‎ ‎My fingers shook as I opened it. ‎ ‎My breath stopped. ‎ ‎The handwriting was neat. Clean. Too calm for the message it carried. ‎ ‎“It was never meant to be you. ‎But now it is. ‎Stay close to him if you want to stay alive.” ‎ ‎Beneath the words, there was a small symbol drawn in black ink. ‎ ‎A symbol I’d never seen before.