Thank you for the reviews 3

If you want to know how the horsemen look in this fic, especially Strife and Death unmasked, go stalk NoteszB on twitter. In all honesty go follow them on twitter in general, their art is great 3

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Despite Evelyn having gone through heaven and hell and all the realms in-between, having the four horsemen awkwardly sit at her dinner table in full gear is probably the most surreal experience she's had yet. Even the black wooden dining chairs that Evelyn purposefully ordered bigger for her own comfort seem somewhat smallish compared to them. Not by much, the Horsemen can reliably pass for very tall humans, but noticeable enough if one looked at it closely. War especially dwarfs all the furniture just by standing next to it.

The jumbo mugs she found in the back of the shelf to serve tea in thankfully are enough, though. Half a litre of volume and they look like regular mugs in their hands.

"I still think it's weird that you'd just let us stay in your house," Strife says, idly stirring his tea. He removed his mask a while back, and Evelyn was surprised to find that his skin was actually a dark purplish hue, by far the least natural tone of all horsemen, Death and his ashen complexion included. Strife's face didn't look bad at all, though; high cheekbones, slightly crooked nose, cocky smile, just the right amount of charming. A perfect face for the dipshit he was proving himself to be.

"Won't you just buy the 'I'm repaying you for helping to save the world' excuse?" Evelyn asks with a smirk of her own as Rascal finally decides that he's had enough pawing at her leg and jumps onto her lap. She runs her knuckles through the cat's ginger fur, and he curls on her thighs, content.

"I'm preeetty sure you're the one who actually saved the world," Strife says, narrowing those glowing yellow eyes at her. Evelyn snorts, waving her hand at him.

"Wouldn't be able to without you, though. Without Death's sacrifice, without Fury's and War's help. Hell, even without you helping round up the survivors. Everyone contributed; don't downplay yourselves."

Strife coughs into his hand, but he fools nobody at the table as his teeth shine white from behind his fist. His cheeks darken, too, barely enough to notice. Death punches him in the shoulder with a disapproving sigh, but that only makes Strife grin wider.

"But if that's not enough for you, then how about 'I'm a lonely old lady in a big house in the middle of nowhere, who could really use some company'?" Evelyn asks, and takes a sip from her cup.

"And we would be that company?" Death asks impassively. Evelyn noticed that as they were sitting down that Fury and War were taking a step back from the conversation. It was understandable; they knew Evelyn, and they knew they wanted to stay should she let them. Death and Strife less so, and while Strife seems receptive to her, Death… Is not. Evelyn isn't really surprised. He's worried for his siblings and the world is a mess, and two of his siblings insist that some human lady he never met is someone they can trust.

Some human lady with a pretty high number of angel and demon deaths attached to her name. Whose name alone can be thrown as leverage against the supernatural.

Yeah, she can understand why he's wary.

Evelyn points at the cat in her lap. "It's either you or I become a crazy cat lady in my advanced age. I'm well on my way there, a month ago I didn't have a single cat."

Death looks dubiously at Rascal, and then turns to see Pepper, still sitting on the kitchen counter he jumped on when the Horsemen first came in, and still staring owlishly at nothing but Death. Evelyn finds it somewhat endearing.

"But do you have any other options, really?" she asks.

Death grimaces, Evelyn can see it even with his mask still in place—he didn't touch his tea either—and looks at his siblings. Fury is looking at him boredly, War is resolutely staring at his mug that he's cradling with his flesh hand, the bulky prosthetic hanging awkwardly to the side. Strife seems otherwise unbothered, but Evelyn can easily see that his body language is carefully disguised concern. But he seems okay with the idea so far—whether it's because he doesn't think much of human Evelyn, or because he trusts his siblings, or both, Evelyn doesn't care.

That leaves Death, who's still grimacing.

"We… Don't," he answers her eventually, though it obviously pains him. "I don't… Want charity."

"Neither do we," Fury snorts, wringing the teabag on the spoon the way Christa taught her. The reminder makes Evelyn's chest ache: Christa lost her limbs in the final fight, and Evelyn knows firsthand that rehabilitation for the prosthetics is long and painful. Especially when one loses their limbs long after getting used to them. "It's a good thing, then, that Evelyn's not offering any."

"Well, if you want to go by definition, I am volunteering to help."

Fury gives her a stink eye and War, who's sitting closer, hauls his prosthetic arm and shoves her slightly, to him, but nonetheless enough to move her and the chair she's sitting on. Evelyn merely laughs at it.

"They're different," War notices as he lets his prosthetic back down, looking at her arms. Evelyn lifts up her right hand and flexes her fingers; they're sleek, almost entirely human-like, shaped to closely resemble the usual proportions of human arms. Made with some sort of Maker spin on Tungsten, both more durable and light enough to be fully functional limbs without overstraining her back muscles and bones. A mass of plates and wires that moves in tandem in a way eerily similar to organic muscles, delicate and precise enough and even allowing Evelyn to sense pressure and temperature to a degree. It was by no means sophisticated or even close to a sense of touch, of course, but it was something. And it wasn't like Evelyn had much of a frame of reference; she lost her arms forty years ago, after all. As far as she was aware, these were too sensitive for limbs.

"I wasn't going to wear the bulky war machines on the daily, now was I," she says. "These are lighter and obviously weaker, but much more adapted to… Well, doing things other than fighting. Household things that I need to do all by myself now."

"This is fucked up," Strife pipes up. "You're talking about your arms like they're what? A piece of clothing?"

Evelyn blinks at him in confusion. "Because… That's what they are?"

"...I'm pretty sure they're not."

"They are for me," Evelyn says with a shrug. "Look, Strife, I'm almost fifty years old; I lost my arms before I was ten. As far as I'm concerned, my arms have always been detachable and replaceable."

Strife looks away, and hisses; "If the damn Council did their damn job, they wouldn't be."

"I get the feeling you didn't like them much."

"I was the first to figure out they were shit," he says with a scoff. "Pity I could only warn Fury before Destroyer made me its chew-toy."

"So you did die then…" Fury says, fingers tapping on her cup.

"...yeah. It… Wasn't fun."

For the first time since they met, Strife sounds serious. Morose, almost.

Evelyn finds that it doesn't suit him very much.

Death looks at him sharply, and then down at his hands that he laid on the table. Maybe he didn't know that Strife had died? Strife definitely didn't seem like someone who'd mention that; he seemed like the sort of guy to cheerfully sweep his issues under the rug.

That didn't change the fact that, in the end, all Horsemen died, and only Evelyn's breaking of the last seal brought them back.

Because the number of riders shall ever be four, or some other poetry like that.

"Well, you're alive now," Evelyn says consolingly. "The council is done for, Humanity is in charge. I can't say it's a good thing, we do have a very extensive history of fuck-ups and pointless hate and greed, but we're never inherently good or bad, so in a way the balance will be kept. Just… Not really in the perfect way that Council seemed to want. It's always been a constant tug of war, I don't expect it to change. Meanwhile you four are free."

"And what is this freedom supposed to be, exactly?" Death asks with a frown, like he genuinely doesn't know what to actually do with himself. "We've been Council's enforcers for so long."

"It means doing what you want, going where you want, when you want, and not having to worry about orders to kill this and that regardless of whether it aligns with your morals," Evelyn says with a shrug. "I'd know. Outside of my… Issues, I've been quite enjoying my freedom. Going to sleep when I want, eating what I want, spending my time on whatever catches my interest."

"Issues?" Death asks.

Evelyn waves her hand. "You know, all the fun stuff soldiers typically get during war that tend to only really show up when they retire," she says. "My therapist will be elated that I'm still doing something else than falling into self-destructive habits."

"You humans can be so fragile," Strife says, and Evelyn just shrugs.

"Hey, it's not my fault my brain decided that prolonged exposure to a hyper-stressful environment and general trauma is going to make it stop working properly," she says and takes a sip of her tea. "Anyway, I have an idea you all might like."

They all focus on her.

"You live here for a month, and after that you decide if you want to stay. How's that?"

Fury, War and Strife all turn to look at Death expectantly and he shifts uncomfortably under their collective, expectant gazes. Evelyn is looking at him, too. After all, he's the only one who has doubts.

"C'mon, I don't want to sleep in a forest if there's an alternative," Strife whines. Fury nods at it, and War doesn't react much. Evelyn, though, knows him well enough to know that he'd be quite upset if Death didn't agree. It's all in the almost-pouting way his lips quirk down.

Death must see it, too, because he lets out a deep sigh and nods. "A month."

It's definitely not forever, but long enough to get a proper gauge whether they'd like to stay. It's also refreshing to see excitement on the faces of Fury and War that was not caused by the prospect of carnage. It made them look young, innocent almost.

Evelyn wonders if they were ever allowed to be kids, and if that even mattered now that they were long since adults.

She stands up and extends her hand to Death.

She can see Death's quirked eyebrows even through the mask—it's the eyes. But nonetheless he stands up, not towering over her too much only because Evelyn herself is taller than the average, and shakes her hand. It's a cold but strong grip, but shorter in duration than most would consider polite.

Almost as if Evelyn's mechanical hand burns him, and she notices his discomfort, and how hastily he steps away. The almost-apologetic flash in Death's eyes tells her that it's not a problem with her; it's a problem that befell him before.

(She's not the only one to notice, as Strife narrows his eyes.)

She doesn't let Death know that she noticed, instead dropping her hand and smiling pleasantly the way she's been told to smile to the press when addressing the people, but it's a whole lot more genuine than then. Easier, too.

"And now," Evelyn claps her hands, "we will be going shopping. So I hope you guys have convincing disguises unless you want to be accosted for autographs and well-wishes every two steps you take."

War and Fury share an identical scowl. Strife and Death are confused.

"We…" Fury starts. "We have fans. And some of them… Are… Uh."

"Creepy as all fuck," War says, quoting what Evelyn said a week before the big ceremony commemorating end of the apocalypse, with a completely flat voice and enough force to startle a laugh out of the woman.

"Yes, that," Fury snaps her fingers and points at him. "Some things they can say and try to do are really disgusting."

"They're also not very perceptive when you're being subtle," Evelyn placates, because the uneasiness in Strife and Death is obvious. "I know from experience. And if you have actual human disguises at hand, then even better."

"Can do," Strife says, flashing her a cocky grin. Evelyn just shakes her head before she has to scramble because Rascal decides to climb her like a jungle gym.

Later in the day, after they've settled in and Evelyn has shown them the upstairs and everyone has claimed a room they like (the master bedroom was, conveniently, downstairs), she decides to drag them out and do some shopping. Because no matter how War and Fury insist that it's fine and they can just sleep on the floor, or how Strife cheekily asks if he can have the other half of her bed, she puts her foot down and doesn't budge. Death is just standing just to the side of the ongoing chaos, apparently rather content to leave wrangling his siblings to someone else for once.

Either that, or it's the staring match he's locked in with Pepper. It took just a few minutes but the one-eyed cat grew entirely obsessed with the eldest Horseman.

And this is how they find themselves donning human guises and travelling through the Serpent Hole that Vulgrim insisted on installing in Evelyn's basement straight to the nearest big city.

War traded his pristine white hair for dirty blond, and let Fury haphazardly put it up in a half-bun. His eyes seem to shine, but can easily pass for human ones. He removed his arm entirely—even if they get attacked, he'll be just fine for now— and traded his armour for combat boots, torn jeans, somewhat tight-fitting red t-shirt and a brown jacket.

Fury made her hair stop floating but otherwise kept it purple. Her eyes, though somewhat unnaturally pale, were a bright silver. She may or may not have—with permission—raided Evelyn's closet, and somehow came out with edgiest pieces Evelyn has ever owned; leather pants, the only pair of platform combat boot-esque heels Evelyn has ever owned, a black tank-top and a fur-trimmed leather jacket.

Strife, Evelyn decided, actually looked weird with a human skin-tone as opposed to the purple, but the darker hue suited him quite well. With mischievously twinkling honey eyes and dark hair slicked back, paired with carefully sloppy attire; denim jacket on a hoodie, with skinny jeans and combat boots he's turning heads within minutes. And he knows it, basking in the attention.

Death looked slightly more alive, with redder skin and brown eyes, and a sleek black mask covering most with a jaw pattern covering most of his face. His hair remained the same, loosely sprawled on his back and shoulders. He wore black cargo pants and, of course, leather combat boots, black long-sleeved turtleneck and a black bomber jacket.

And then there was Evelyn, dressed a bit like a country bumpkin in her loose cardigan over a tartan shirt and cargo pants tucked into tall lace-up boots, with leather gloves hiding the rest of her hands. She looks nothing like she does on the poster she comes almost face-to-face with, glaring at the world and decked out in full army uniform, with wicked-looking, bulky prosthetics that can easily tear through flesh and concrete alike.

"Huh, that's more you," Strife muses, looking at the said poster, and Evelyn just shrugs.

"They say to never meet your heroes," she tells him. "Because what you think they are like doesn't stand much chance against what they actually are."

"But you are different now," Fury notices. "Before you were… More like that, actually," she vaguely waves at the poster. And fair that, she was.

"Before we were at war. Now, I'm retired, and because of that, I can actually be more me and less the general," Evelyn says. "Don't know about you, but I like the real me more. It's relaxing to not have doom hanging over your head at all times."

"I like it more too," War says, a little too eagerly. He looks at Evelyn, then at his siblings, then away, with pink dusting his cheeks. "The current you."

Evelyn has to bite the inside of her mouth to stop herself from cooing because damn, he's cute.

Strife whispers something that sounds suspiciously like 'simp'. War kicks him in the shin.

"Are we going?" Death cuts the flailing short, though Evelyn wouldn't mind teasing his little brother a bit more. "I don't like wasting time."

"Yes, yes. Anyone else got spatial storage, or just me?"

Fury raises her hand. "I organised it recently. Why?"

"Because the furniture is big and I'm not in the mood to rent a truck that would take hours to drive everything back home. Easier to carry a whole house in your pocket."

"I don't think that's what spatial storage was intended for," Strife says cheekily. "It was for transportation of volatile and important artefacts."

"Well, I'm using it as a glorified shopping bag today."

"I know, and I love that."

"Can we go?"

"Is your brother always this grumpy or is it the scenery change?"

"Scenery. He's a ray of fucking sunshine normally."

"Strife, I will take your head off if you don't shut up."

"See?"

Evelyn sighs and leaves the alley with the Serpent Hole entrance before a fight can escalate, and the Horsemen scramble to follow.

Strife, nonetheless, opens his mouth again.

"Behave and we may go to McDonalds after."

Strife closes his mouth with an audible click.

Death actually looks at Evelyn in disbelief at that, and she smirks triumphantly at him.

Wrangling a brat isn't that difficult, all things considered.

They do go to McDonalds after, because she promised. It's a near miss when Strife starts antagonising Fury when they walk past a cosmetics store, but Evelyn is quick to yank the horseman by the scruff and away from his sister and a very likely punch to the face. Properly cowed with the threat of no junk food, Strife reins his jackassery in once more.

He's very obviously testing the waters—him and Death both, but Death is content just observing her interactions with others for now—and Evelyn wonders how long will it take him to move from antagonising his siblings in front of her to antagonising her. The next few days will be rocky because of that, no doubt, but she understands the need to know exactly where they stand with each other. Her team did the same thing when they were first put under her; Fury and War included.

Well, less so War, though he did question her orders a fair bit at first.

Fury settled her doubts with a simple yet vicious fistfight. That one was fun.

And now they sat outside the building with yellow M on top—some industries got up faster than others, and while fast food was hardly a necessity, it was quick and comfortable to grab on the go—after a few hours of stalking through shops, March sun high above them. Strife is elated by the takeout, War obviously doesn't know what to think, and Fury and Death are distinctly not impressed.

Evelyn meanwhile got a coffee and a brownie to boost her sugar levels.

"I didn't think you'd be so happy to go to a McDonalds," Evelyn says, rather amazed with the discovery. Strife grins at her.

"Always wanted to try, actually! Never got the chance before the apocalypse, though."

"I don't understand why people like this," Death scoffs, looking at his hamburger with offended indignation. Fury nods in agreement. Evelyn shrugs, while War makes his way through his order without a word.

"It is quite awful, isn't it?" Evelyn asks with a chuckle. "I honestly prefer regular restaurants if I'm eating out at all. Fast-food joints aren't for everyone."

Understatement of the millennium, Death's unhappy gaze seems to say. Still, they eat what they can and then they move on to part two of their shopping; grocery. It's pretty dull, save for when Strife convinces Fury to drive him around the mall in the shopping cart, much to the exasperation of everyone. Death looks quite comical, looking at the two entirely affronted while holding a bottle of apple juice. War just looks unhappy with his siblings doing sibling things.

Evelyn for her part lets them be, as long as they don't harass anyone else.

Evelyn knows better than doing anything but following the four into the store after War sees horse care products in the window of a pet store.

It's like trying to rein a bunch of kids in a candy shop. It's best to just let it run its course.

(Evelyn gets some cat stuff in the meantime.)

War, Evelyn notices (has noticed in the first hour of her trip, really), is doing that thing again, where he will try to flex whenever she's looking at him. And she knew he wasn't doing it on purpose; she asked Fury about it, actually, but the woman just rolled her eyes and shrugged, with a small smile gracing her lips.

'Let him figure it out,' Fury told her then. 'He might even succeed.'

And so, Evelyn let him try to figure it out. She wasn't interested in potential relationships, especially during the apocalypse. Now things were changing, of course. But Evelyn was also old, and she wasn't sure she wanted to give up her retirement for something supposedly this exciting.

So she left War to figure it out himself.

He hasn't, as of yet. Evelyn didn't quite mind; he had a very nice body, and if he wanted to show it off for her, she wasn't going to complain.

She was mostly disinterested, not blind.

And then Death notices.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asks, voice dangerously low with the unspoken threat. Evelyn freezes, and then turns to face him, ever so slowly, as if to make sure she heard it right.

"I could very well ask you the same thing," she says, her own voice low but yet sharp enough to make him momentarily falter. She looks Death in the eyes and holds his yellow gaze easily. "Last I checked, it wasn't a crime to look."

And as much as she initially thinks she knows what she is, because she's looking him in the eyes so intently, that assumption takes a dive. Because try as he might to hide it, Evelyn does notice that split-second glint of feardangerworry in there.

And if Death were just protective of War, it wouldn't be there. Not in this combination. Not in this intensity, no matter how little of it he let slip.

War looks at them both, worried and confused and obviously ready to step in, but Fury beats him to it, slapping Death on the shoulder to get his attention. He flinches at the notion, before realising it's his sister and settling back down. Combined with the handshake that seemed to burn him, his attitude, and now this, Evelyn is starting to see a picture she doesn't like at all.

"Brother, a word?"

He narrows his eyes at Fury, then at Evelyn who cocks his eyebrow at him—entirely ready to punch the daylights out of him, if need be—and then looks back at his sister and nods sharply, following her a bit to the side, where they won't be heard.

"Well, that's awkward," Strife says, and Evelyn lets the urge to roll her eyes win.

"Thank you for the running commentary," she says flatly. "We'd be so lost without it."

Strife grins and bows down in an exaggerated fashion. Evelyn messes up his hair in retaliation. Serves him right.

Then, as soon as he stops spluttering, he starts bickering with War.

"What is wrong with you?" Fury hisses, after having dragged her idiot brother far enough to not be overheard. "What's with the sudden hostility?"

Death doesn't answer. He doesn't even look at her, glaring at the wall to the side instead, but she can see his Adam apple bobbing as he tries to find his words. Fury lets go of his wrist that she was holding and takes a step back, something sad in her eyes.

"Evelyn isn't her," she tells Death, softly but with a certainty, because this was the truth and he had to realise it. And it made her angry that her brother would see that monster in her sister-in-arms.

"How can you be so sure?" Death snaps, finally turning to look at her, eyes glowing. "That whore was crafty, too. Knew how to lay low, how to get what she wanted—"

Fury grabs the folds of his shirt and drags him down abruptly, so that they're at the same eye level.

"You will not, under any circumstance, compare Evelyn to her, you hear me?" she snarls, all primal fury living up to her name. "We fought together and bled together, almost died and saved the world with it. You will not insult Evelyn by comparing her to that whore."

She spits out the last word, the name, like it's poison. And, in truth, it's as good as. Death, at least, is still looking at her. Good.

"Evelyn won't hurt us," she says, quieter this time. "Not unless we attack her first, and even then, she would never hurt any of us that way. And I know you're hurting still, that you have scars still, but you cannot go through your life comparing every single person you meet to the one that hurt you."

Death closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath.

"I don't want War hurt," he says, voice even, and somehow it feels like an achievement to them both.

"Neither do I," Fury says. "But Evelyn won't hurt him. At worst, she'll let him down."

Death doesn't look very convinced, but that's okay. All he needs for now is a little bit of doubt and a little bit of hope.

"I know you don't know Evelyn as well as War and I do, but give her a chance. Trust me, she's worth it."

Death takes a deep breath. Shrugs. Nods.

"And most of all, Evelyn isn't Lilith. In fact, she personally caught Lilith, and then killed her after the judgement. Maybe she'll tell you about it, should you ask."

Death looks at her again. "When did you become so wise?"

Fury shrugs. "I spent a big part of the last century around humans. They're a lot more fragile than us, so I had to learn patience and finesse when it came to handling them; especially at their lowest."

He nods, and that is that.

"Besides," Fury says with a small smile, "War likes her. A lot. He's the only one who doesn't realise, but that doesn't change what it is."

They return to the rest of the group to the sight of several pigeons stalking a very concerned Strife, much to the bemusement of Evelyn and War. All three of them are holding something that, upon closer inspection, turns out to be muffins, yet only Strife is accosted by the birds. They shoo them away, get their own muffins (that Death approves of much more than the McDonalds), and head back to the farm. All the while Evelyn doesn't bring up the outburst, which Death decides he's grateful for.

"Do you want actual casual clothes?" Evelyn asks as they're about to make a turn to the alley with the Serpent Hole in it. They all stop and look at her. She shrugs. "Well, all you've got is armour, right? That can't be very comfortable."

"We need to be battle ready," War says, tone flat as if stating the obvious. Evelyn gives him a stink eye, but before she can say anything, Strife jumps between them.

"Yes," he says, effectively drowning his sibling's responses. "Yes, we need casual clothes."

"But—" Death tries to say, but Strife tuts at him.

"No. If great and scary Miss General Lady Hero of Humanity Evelyn Brown gets to have a vacation, then I want vacation too. And for that, I need comfy clothes."

"It's retirement," Evelyn feels compelled to clarify.

"A period during which you don't do work," Strife says, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, how expensive of a brand are you willing to shell out for?"

Fury groans. "Do you absolutely need brand name clothes?"

"No, but I'd like some! Don't you?"

"Are you going to let them do this?" War asks Evelyn, who's just starting resignedly at the two. She looks up at the youngest Horseman, then at Death, and shrugs.

"I do have the money, and little to do with it. I can only dump so much into charities before people start screaming that I shouldn't give back what I got for saving them all, and I have no extended family to will it to, bar the team; who also got compensated. You know, you vanished so fast, but I'm pretty damn sure you two also got paid for saving the world."

"We did?" Fury asks, attention momentarily off Strife.

"Likely."

"Oooh, sisteer~"

"I'm not buying you shit. You have one sugar mommy already."

Evelyn chokes on nothing but air. "Fury, for the love of all that's good, do not call me that—"

"What's a sugar mommy?"

"Nothing you need to worry about, War. Fury, see what you've done? Stop cackling! You too, Strife! Death, tell them to stop! Hey, why are you laughing too? You're supposed to be the mature one! Death!"

They still make the detour to get casual clothes, though.

The disguises are gone the second they step into the Serpent Hole, just shimmering out of existence as if they were never there to begin with. The Horsemen gain a few more inches, Strife's purple again, and Death is back to his unhealthy pallor. Fury is still in the clothes she filched off of Evelyn, and at this point, Evelyn might as well give them to the woman. She could never pull off a look like that, and it would be sad to just put these clothes back where she didn't use them.

"You guys hungry?" Evelyn asks them all as they emerge from the basement. She feeds the cats, who most definitely are hungry, but the Horsemen just shrug at her. Evelyn's not necessarily hungry herself either, but she does have pre-prepared ingredients for a stew in her fridge, so she puts in on, if only to free up space in the fridge and have food for tomorrow.

Then, they unpack and trade banter and it feels rather nice in a familiar way. It reminds Evelyn of moving into military dorms with her squad.

She leaves the furniture and clothes in the rooms of respective Horsemen and heads back downstairs to unpack all the groceries and fend cats off and away from the pots.

Eventually soon the smell of food lures all four of her tenants out as they decide that they're hungry after all, and they eat dinner. They're all wearing casual clothes, too, some of the sets Evelyn bought them. Death is still adamantly wearing a mask, though—he switched back to the bone one.

It's fascinating to watch them interact in an environment where they're clearly so out of place; a modern human dining room. But they're more relaxed than in the morning, if still awkward, and that reflects on their interactions.

Death, though, Death seems to not know what to think of her. Ever since Fury pulled him to the side, it's only been worse. Evelyn hopes she'll be able to work it out soon.

She should; especially if her suspicions about why he's this hackled are right, because she really doesn't like the implications.