Reaper Sans Novels & Stories

he said, his voice low, a rough rasp of calm. Reaper stepped inside, the hallway light casting him in long, intimidating shadows that stretched across the floor. His leather cut hung open over a black shirt, and his dark jeans were grease-stained, familiar signs of his world. There was something off in his posture—shoulders tense, but not in that calculated, ready-to-fight way. This was something else. Worn. Like he carried a weight no one else saw. He glanced at the untouched sandwich on the small table by the window. “You planning on starving yourself?”

I stood with Sissy between my legs watching the other three line up and felt absolutely nothing. Everything went quiet the moment I put the helmet on. The noise of the crowd, the weight of Noah's mess, the angry bird named Chance. Reaper didn't have a brother. Didn't have an annoying old man. Didn't have a girl who pointed highlighters at him when she was annoyed. Though I enjoyed that one. Reaper had the road.