She fights death for a living. He IS death.
Emma Walsh doesn't do vulnerability. She's a Southie EMT with a death-sense she's disguised as clinical instinct, walls built from a dead mother and a stolen scholarship, and a strict policy of never needing anyone. Then her hands land on Azrael—ancient, warm, built like a problem, and patient in the way of a man who's been alive since before language—and the fated bond between them blows every rule she has to pieces.
He's the Angel of Death. She's the woman who makes him shake. And in a Boston where dead souls are being chained to service, crumbling wards are letting nightmares through, and a villain who's right about the problem is building an army from the trapped dead, Emma will have to decide which chains to break and which one—the cosmic, unbreakable, terrifying bond tying her to an immortal who cooks at 2 AM and calls her name like it's the only word that matters—she's willing to keep.