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I pulled my lips between my teeth. “I will murder you in your sleep,” I warned.
Fletcher quirked a brow. “I’d like to see you try.”
I growled. “I’m persistent,” I retorted through gritted teeth as the elevator opened at the rooftop pool.
In the shadow of the Eiffel Tower and the blue neon balloon, the rooftop pool sat in a hexagon, surrounded by sun loungers.
A memory layered over my vision—of people dressed up and milling around the pool's edge. The DJ’s platform and the rainbow lights splayed on the side of the Eiffel tower.
Banners with various energy drink sponsor logos and a VR station for people playing beat saber—one of the games that had made me go viral.
In the light of day, all of that had disappeared.
The pool was closed and in the process of being cleaned. The only sign that anything untoward had happened was the yellow police tape that spilled over the trashcan closest to the water.
People sunbathed as if nothing was wrong.
Drinking cocktails by the pool.
A family with three kids, loaded down with towels and pool toys, waited on the edge. The mother screamed at the lifeguard, irate that the pool was closed, even though someone had died in the water the night before.
Ihad died in the water.
I couldn’t force my feet to get closer to the edge. Frozen, I stared down at the blue tiles and the water lapping the grates that lined the sides of the pool, and I couldn’t take another step.
Blinking away tears, I looked to the side and scanned the hotel wall and hundreds, if not thousands, of windows.
Had my friends stayed in the suite? Had they cried after I had been dredged from the pool like a lost bathing suit.
Had my father flown in to identify my body?
Had Cody gone with him?
I had so many questions but no answers.
I couldn’t stand the sight of the Vegas Eiffle Tower a moment longer.
Fletcher watched silently as I overcame the first hurdle towards being a Reaper.
Accepting that I was dead.
Silently, I placed my hand in his, and we walked back to the elevator.
The Bellagio fountain sat in the shadow of the Paris MGM as we stepped into the baking sun of the Strip.
The streets were clogged with taxis, and the giant billboard outside of the House of Selfies reminded me that I had tickets booked—tickets I would never get to use.
Fletcher tossed his yellow hood over his hair and kept his head down, scowling as if the sun had personally offended him, though I didn’t mind the dry heat.
I wasn’t a stranger to the strip. I lived in Summerlin, about fifteen minutes away on the other side of the valley.
I wanted nothing more than to get an Uber and go home. Back to my room, my ring light and my twitch set up, and to just play Minecraft and rant about what an asshole my dad was,selling my soul to the devil.
We waited at the crosswalk for the lights to turn—I heard the familiar sound of a woman squealing in excitement. Habit had me plastering a friendly smile on my unfamiliar lips and turning back, but it wasn’t one ofmyfans.
I recognized him straight away.
Cody.
