The air hung thick and heavy, a damp blanket clinging to Elias as he navigated the narrow waterway. Cypress trees, draped in ghostly Spanish moss, rose from the murky water like skeletal fingers, their reflections blurring in the still surface. The incessant drone of cicadas filled the air, a constant, maddening hum that seemed to penetrate his very bones. He’d traded the crisp academic attire of Elias Thorne for the dark, practical garb of the Reaper, the transition as familiar as the rasp of leather against his skin.