The Toll (Arc of a Scythe, #3)

by Neal Shusterman

Then he saw a lone scythe looking in his direction from the field. The one in the crimson robe. One of the few scythes who was not going after the crowd. They locked eyes for a moment. Then, just as the flames caught on the doomed man’s pant legs, Scythe Constantine raised a pistol and performed the only gleaning he would do today. A single shot through the heart that spared the tech from a more painful end. And the last thought the tech had before his life left him was a wave of immense gratitude for the crimson scythe’s mercy.

Old guard finally!