It was another quiet evening in Tank's apartment. Dante had joined us, going through paperwork while Tank read to me out loud from 'The Art of War'.
As much as I know I should cherish these nights, something was crawling under my skin, wanting to be set free.
'You are going to die,' muttered the female voice in my head. 'It is coming.'
'We all die at some point in time,' I sighed, keeping my eyes closed as Tank's voice continued to wash over me. The calmness he brought to me was something that I desperately craved. The only downside was that a part of me also craved the chaos of the world outside.
People's wishes were coming true, and no one seemed to have died as a result, but the woman talking to me assured me that the souls of the seven men had been collected. Everyone was so happy and content that there were no more wishes to be had.
And I couldn't stay anywhere without wishes.
