“
But I barely hear her. I’m staring at my hands like they betrayed me. I shouldn’t have been able to touch her. Reapers can’t touch the living. It’s rule one. Basic metaphysics. The ironclad law of the OtherWorld. We pass through. We guide. We never touch. We can’t. Except … My fingers still remember the curve of her hip. The heat of her. The weight. I reach out without thinking, kneeling beside her, and run my hand gently along her cheek. Soft. Warm. Real. It’s impossible. “This can’t be happening. There’s no w—OW!” Her fist collides with my jaw before I can finish the thought. “Don’t touch me!
”
”
D.J. Krimmer (Grim)