Later that night, Jude stood on the roof of his apartment building. Below, the city lights flickered like a map of all the lives he couldn't protect. He held the tarot card in his hand, running his thumb over its rough surface. He remembered the last time he saw that symbol. It was painted in blood on a mirror. And the girl who saw it never stopped screaming, until she stopped breathing.
He pocketed the card and looked at the sky. The clouds had parted just enough for the moon to break through. Pale and distant, like the truth. He didn't pray. He had stopped doing that a long time ago. But tonight, he wished for something. Not salvation. Not peace. Just time. Enough to fix one thing before everything else fell apart.
And deep in the city, in a place no light touched, a figure watched him through a cracked screen. He smiled, a slow, patient smile, and picked up another card.
Death. Reversed.
