Erador waited across from the morgue door using the wall for support to prevent himself from collapsing. He couldn’t grasp what he learned one hour ago. Everyone had come and gone. Their broken faces should’ve confirmed the truth, but he didn’t want to believe it. Erador couldn’t go inside and see Eli dead on that table. He didn’t want his death to become part of his reality. Shade’s sadness and understanding was gentle, like the touch of a feather as if not to impede on Erador too much.

  Pia sat on the bench next to the door, clutching her knees with tears streaming down her cheeks. Sescina rubbed her back, consoling her. It broke him further, knowing he never got to say goodbye.

  “What was the cause of death?” Erador asked.

  Sescina rose. “He has no injuries. No signs of poison. He died of natural causes.” She looked back at Pia. “Poor girl. She found him leaning over the kitchen basin.”

  Erador removed himself from the wall. “Was water in it?”

  Sescina eyed him suspiciously. “He didn't drown, if that’s what you mean.”

  Erador moved to the door and grabbed the knob. No matter how many times Eli told him he was near his end, he could never be prepared for it. They should be mourning his father. Part of him couldn’t believe it was natural, not when that witch was here.

  Erador let out a breath and opened the door. The white sheet covering Eli made it easier for him to come into the room and ignore that a body lay underneath. He froze when he noticed the uncovered arm—Eli’s arm with sunspots that were only seen when he would roll the sleeves of his striped shirt to paint.

  The bat and sunflower tattoo confirmed it was Eli. Tightness in his chest climbed up his throat and pressure built in his eyes. Shade inched toward the table and stayed there as if he were mourning too.

  Eli lied for Erador, so he wouldn't have to face another lashing from his father when he disobeyed him. He was understanding, not afraid to share the deeper parts of himself that Erador longed from his father. He would no longer get to sit on the swing and listen as Eli tapped his brush against the bucket. Or be the first to see Eli’s art and ones he never let anyone see. Erador hated himself for not telling Eli how much he meant to him.

  Erador wiped aggressively at the tears that stung his skin. Red crystal paint was dried on Eli’s nails and his arm looked frail. The tears fell harder. Blood was being shed like Miraline said, but not murders. People were dying from lack of medicine and food. Did he let himself go so they had one less mouth to feed?

  He wanted to curse their situation, his father, and Miraline. His thoughts were lost as his gaze trailed to the clothing pile under the table. A card was in a pocket of the stripped shirt. Erador pulled it out, surprised he was holding a warden card. The image was a bat hanging upside down from a tree, wings spread against the sunflower in the sky. He furrowed his brow and turned the card to the black side.

  A hand slid on his shoulder and he jumped. Haven gave him a weak smile and moved to Eli. She placed her hand over the sheet and one on her heart. Tears built in her eyes. Erador's constricted throat trapped his words inside. Seeing her in pain was the last thing he wanted.

  “He found me,” Haven said, shattering the heavy silence. “When I was in the woods starving… he brought me here.”

  “Have...” Erador’s voice broke.

  “It’s fine. I mean…” She wiped her eye. “I didn’t get the chance to thank him better.”

  Erador swallowed hard. “I’m sure he knew you were grateful.”

  Haven gave a nod and wiped a tear from her cheek. He resisted reaching out to touch her, no matter how much he wanted to. It was better she came to him for a hug after their last encounter.

  “Why do you have that card?” she asked.

  “I... found it in his pocket,” Erador said. “Do you know why he had it?”

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  Haven hugged herself and shrugged. “Maybe he carries it for good luck.”

  “It sure didn’t help him.” Hawth’s voice trailed in from the doorway.

  Haven shot a glare over her shoulder.

  “It’s not funny,” Erador growled.

  “I never laughed.” Hawth ripped the card from Erador and hoisted the rolled banner under his arm. “He was superstitious. Right, Haven?”

  “Always,” Haven said. “I used to tell him tales from my people. He believed every one of them.”

  “See,” Hawth said, pointing the card at Eli’s corpse. “He probably thought this would vitalize him.”

  Erador ripped the card from him. Hawth pulled the banner from under his arm and unrolled it over Eli's chest to cover his body. A golden bat with spread wings adorned the fabric.

  Hawth smoothed the wrinkles and stepped back. “Better say your goodbyes now. Eli doesn't want a ceremony.”

  He said it like he was saying goodnight. As if he didn't matter. Erador grasped onto the building anger, wanting to scream. When he looked to Haven, he stopped. The people that cared for Eli mattered, not Hawth.

  “So... fifteen Paradians left. We have one extra to build a warden tower," Hawth said, rubbing his sunflower earring.

  “No. We have fourteen,” Erador said, pocketing the card. Some of the Paradins had repeating elements; fourteen original were needed to win a round but he didn't have the energy to argue.

  Erador glared at Hawth but he didn’t respond. He labeled the Paradins like they were just numbers. He had no remorse as if he was just here to do his job. Shade zipped from the shadows and swirled around Hawth in anger.

  Hawth stiffened. “Can’t you control him?”

  “He’s mad.” Haven glared and Hawth. “I can see why.”

  Erador wished he could send Hawth to the realm to teach him a lesson. “You don’t care that Eli’s dead.”

  Hawth let out a humorless laugh. “I never said I didn’t.”

  “You act like you don’t.”

  Hawth looked at the ground. “Some people like to mourn in private.”

  “Then go,” Haven said, pointing at the door.

  Hawth left and Shade relaxed back into the shadows. With him gone, Erador thought the silence would help him and he could accept Eli's death as natural but he couldn't. He was weaker, older, and easier for someone to kill. No matter how difficult it was, he concealed that idea not wanting to spread rumors and disrupt the moment. He was relieved when Haven ended the silence.

  “Where does someone go after they die when they have so many conflicting beliefs?”

  “According to my father, followers are welcome in Lucrethia when they renounce their other beliefs," Erador said. "I guess that means they won’t be welcome in Paradise either.”

  “That means I won’t be welcome there.”

  “Don’t worry,” Erador said. “It’s not real.”

  Haven turned to Erador. “Eli said there could be more than one place for the dead to go.” She touched the orbid crystal necklace peeking out from her buttoned shirt. “My people have one. Don’t you wish you had a place to go?”

  Erador stared at Eli, realizing he was better off not suffering like them. “When we’re dead, that’s it. There’s no coming back.”

  He found peace knowing he would cease to exist one day. The doctrines for Paradise stated they wouldn’t feel hunger, worry, sorrow, or pain—everything he felt. Wouldn’t they remember it? Memories alone could make you feel certain things. Would they have to forget everything to truly find peace?

  Shadows lived on as lurkers. If people lived forever in Paradise, what would they become? Would they get tired of it? Would they go insane like a lurker that lost their owner? Could people become like lurkers?

  He shuddered at the idea of living eternally. Eli would never get to be disappointed that Paradise wasn’t possible. Maybe there was peace in that.