Page 3 of Definitely Dead

Tyr didn’t understand it, but Rune seemed happy. In fact, by all accounts, the asshole was thriving in their new home, unburdened by bitterness or resentment.

“What about you?” Rune asked, his cobalt eyes narrowing at the corners. “Why are you here?”

“I need to talk to Orrin.” When he’d first started up the hill, he had only wanted to get away from the crowd by the pier. That had changed the minute Aster had decided to follow him. “New batch of souls came in, and one decided to stay.”

“You mean the kid following you?”

Tyr paused in the street and looked over his shoulder, just in time to see a pale face duck behind one of the buildings. Damn, he hadn’t even noticed his tail. He was definitely losing his touch.

“Yeah, that’s the one.” A talkative soul with attachment issues. Exactly what he needed.

“Don’t worry.” Rune clapped him on the back as they started walking again. “We’ll get him sorted.”

Of that, he had no doubt, even if he disagreed with the plural part of the statement. Hence why he was on his way to see the prince.

While Orrin had abdicated his claim to the throne, he still carried the title of his position…and he hated it. Since taking on the mantle of Guardian of Lost Souls, he preferred to be addressed by his given name, a request Tyr tried to honor, but old habits and all that.

While the new title came with a lot of responsibility, it also had its perks, like a serious magical upgrade. Which meant Tyr now had the useless task of playing bodyguard to a literal deity.

Very awesome. Totally fine. Loved that for himself.

At the end of the cobbled road, they stopped outside the oldest, shabbiest dwelling in the village. Without a functional foundation, the entire building had shifted over time, giving it a distinctive lean, and the slabs of wood had dried and faded to an unhealthy gray. Lanterns occupied the windows, the warm glow struggling to penetrate the dingy glass, and the thatched roof sagged in several places, especially around the crooked stone chimney.

Villagers asserted the owner had been the first resident, the original lost soul, back when the hamlet had been nothing more than a vacant hill. Tyr had neither the desire nor the energy to verify their claims, but from what he had observed, it sounded reasonable.

“I’ll catch up with you later.” Rather than follow him to the door, Rune took a step back. “Good luck with the kid.”

“He’s not my problem,” Tyr mumbled.

But Rune had already walked away, heading back in the direction they had come from.

The weathered door scraped the floor as it swung open, and the rusted hinges screamed in protest, both violently announcing his arrival. Most places just used a bell. The diner weaponized neglect.

He would like to say the place was a hidden gem, but that would be a lie. The inside precisely matched the exterior—dimly lit, dull, and in desperate need of repairs. A thin layer of sand covered the warped floor, the grains crunching beneath his boots as he made his way to the back of the room.

Seated in the corner on one side of a rudimentary booth, Orrin looked up as he approached, his pale gray eyes gleaming in the candlelight. Fair, refined, with long silvery-white hair, he shined like a beacon in the drab surroundings.

After all this time, one would think the prince would have learned to blend in with the locals, but no. Draped in a sapphire tunic with gold inlays, he looked so wildly out of place, it was almost comical.

A smile stretched his lips, and he reached his hand out to indicate the seat across from him. “Tyr, come sit. Would you like some coffee?”

A dented tin carafe sat in the middle of the table, along with two chipped mugs. Clearly, Orrin had expected him.

“I see we have a new resident,” the prince continued, his gaze drifting to the small window beside the table.

“His name is Aster.” Sliding into the other side of the booth, Tyr flipped the stained white cup over and reached for the carafe. “I told him to talk to Helen, but…” He trailed off, his voice fading into a tired sigh. “He’ll likely be here in a minute.”

“I look forward to meeting him.” There was a genuineness in his tone that Tyr could never hope to match. “Do we know how he died?”

He paused, his mug halfway to his lips, and shook his head. “I didn’t ask.”

“Well, at least you got a name this time. That’s progress, I suppose.”

“I didn’t ask that either.” He shrugged, unmoved by the mild scolding, and sipped from his cup. The food at the diner might taste like soggy cardboard, but Cian made a damn good cup of coffee. “He just told me.”

“A chatty one.” Orrin sat up a little straighter and glanced toward the door, his curiosity clearly piqued. “What’s he like? General impression?”

Tyr understood the excitement, even if he didn’t share in it.

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