”“One is young when latched to their mother’s breast.”“And therefore I don’t deserve more time? Have I not been a good person? Spending my...days saving other people!” Isabella’s emotions flare, voice rising.“You do not ask the right questions.” Death waves a bone-white hand, the arm of its robe floating as if underwater, tar inking over the tile. Isabella considers this. What question does Death want her to ask? What question would it answer?“Do you always converse with those you come for?”. Asking the cabbie to wait, Rob got out and approached the venerable old five-story brownstone that Dawn lived in.At the top of the stoop was a bank of buttons. Finding Dawn's over a faded label that said simply Medieras, he pressed the button. The intercom responded quickly with a tinny Yes?He decided that a little practical formality might set the right tone, so he replied with, "Robert Zane for Dawn Medieras, please."The intercom crackled with a sound suspiciously like laughter, then Dawn's. More

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