Chapter 3: Elder

Sunlight glints across the gilded letters of a sign: Graceful Living Retirement Facility.

Birds sing. Cars drift past. A dog barks somewhere down the block, and a faint siren wails in the distance. The living call places like this ‘Heaven’s waiting room’—a fitting description as Lord Grim and the newest Reaper of Justice materialize across the street from the entrance.

The two stand in silence for a long moment. Justice takes in every detail. Nothing appears unusual, yet everything feels extraordinary—the warmth of the sun on his skin, the sharp green scent of cut grass, the clear trill of the birds. Death has heightened his senses.

He blinks, and Lord Grim is already halfway to the door.

“Not paying attention on my first day,” Justice mutters. “Perfect.”

He steps into the street and instantly jerks back as cars speed past. Dazed for a moment, he watches them blur by—horns blaring, the rush of air tugging at his coat—and then it clicks— earthly rules don’t apply to him anymore. He ditches the “look both ways before crossing” rule, and steps off the curb once more with confidence.

“First encounters with the living world can be tricky,” Lord Grim says, his voice even and low.

“Yeah, I guess the first step’s a doozy,” Justice quips playfully.

Grim does not smile. “You’ll begin reaping soon. For now, you’ll shadow another. This is Elder—the most experienced and the wisest of the Reapers. Listen carefully and feel free to ask questions.”

“Thank you, Lord Grim,” says a woman with deep olive skin and dark eyes as she steps forward. Her hair, pure white, is wrapped in a woven scarf that frames an ageless face. Tranquility radiates from her.

“Justice,” she says warmly, “welcome. As Lord Grim stated, I am the Reaper named Elder, and yes—I’ve held this position the longest. Let’s proceed.”

Before Justice can answer, she glides through the doors of Graceful Living.

The lobby overwhelms him. Walkers squeak, wheelchairs rattle, aides call instructions over the hum of conversation. The air smells faintly of disinfectant and overbrewed coffee.

Frozen, Justice turns from side to side, trying to take it all in.

Elder doubles back, her tone that of a patient teacher. “Oh, sweet new one. They can’t see us. Move with confidence. Remember your purpose.”

He exhales, centers himself, and follows. This time he passes through the hall effortlessly, unnoticed by the living.

At the middle of the corridor Elder stops before a door marked Bethany W. and Simona C.

“This is us,” she says. “Are you ready?”

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

The room is bright, and the far wall is filled with windows overlooking a garden of fruiting trees and blooming flowers. One bed is neatly made, a worn teddy bear resting on its pillow and framed photographs lined along a low shelf—children, grandchildren, crayon drawings faded with time. Beside it, an elderly woman sits in a recliner, quietly murmuring a string of names in prayer, and begging for death to take her.

The second bed lies closest to the door. A handmade quilt is draped over an ashen figure.

Justice’s voice drops. “Why does she look… void of color?”