The mountain was still shaking.

Cracks splintered across the black altar while blue fire crawled through the ancient carvings like veins beneath skin. Frost spread rapidly over the surrounding ruins, coating broken pillars in shimmering white ice.

Evangeline stood frozen in place, breathing hard.

Across from her, the God of Death stared at his own hand as though it no longer belonged to him.

No one spoke.

The guardians remained kneeling, though several of them had lowered themselves nearly flat against the stone as if terrified to look directly at their master.

Eva’s heart hammered painfully against her ribs.

The heat inside her body had not faded yet. It pulsed beneath her skin in strange waves, leaving her dizzy and unnerved. She could still feel the exact place where Acheron’s fingers had touched her jaw.

Nothing about this situation felt normal.

Which, considering she was standing in front of an immortal death god inside a frozen ruin at the edge of the Underworld, was admittedly saying quite a lot.

Acheron finally lifted his gaze back to her.

The silver in his eyes had changed.

Before, they had looked empty.

Now they looked dangerous.

“What,” he said very quietly, “are you?”

Eva blinked at him.

“I was actually about to ask you the same thing.”

One of the guardians made a strangled noise that sounded deeply offended on divine behalf.

Acheron ignored it.

His gaze remained fixed on her face with unnerving intensity, as though he expected her to suddenly transform into something monstrous.

Eva almost laughed at the irony.

At the moment, he was still the most terrifying thing there.

The wind around the ruins had become unstable. Shadow curled around Acheron’s boots in restless waves, spreading outward across the stone floor before pulling back again like living smoke.

He looked furious.

Not at her.

At himself.

That realization unsettled her more than the storm.

Acheron took a slow step backward.

The movement looked controlled, but Eva noticed the stiffness in it immediately.

Distance.

He wanted distance.

Interesting.

“You should not exist,” he said.

“Well, that feels slightly dramatic.”

His expression remained cold enough to freeze oceans.

“When death touches living flesh,” he said evenly, “living flesh dies.”

Eva glanced down at herself.

“As you can see, I’m unfortunately still here.”

The shadows around him twisted violently.

The nearest guardian lowered its head further.

“My Lord,” it rasped cautiously, “the anomaly should be destroyed immediately.”

Eva turned toward the creature. “That’s rude.”

Acheron spoke before the guardian could respond.

“No.”

The single word cracked through the ruins like thunder.

Every shadow in the area froze instantly.

The guardian went silent.

Eva slowly looked back at him.

Interesting became concerning remarkably fast.

Acheron’s jaw tightened slightly, as though he regretted speaking at all.

For several long seconds, he simply watched her.

Not like a man looked at a woman.

Not even like a predator looked at prey.

More like a scholar staring at a mathematical error that should not exist.

Eva hated being looked at that way.

She crossed her arms tightly against the cold. “I didn’t come here to discuss whatever existential crisis I’m apparently causing.”

No reaction.

“My sister is dying.”

Still nothing.

Anger sparked again.

“You can help her.”

“I can.”

“Then do it.”

Acheron’s silver eyes narrowed slightly.

“You speak as though you are entitled to favors.”

Eva let out a short laugh that held absolutely no humor.

“Trust me, if I had literally any other option, I would not be standing on top of a cursed mountain arguing with death itself.”

Something flickered again in his expression.

Not amusement exactly.

But close enough to make her nervous.

The God of Death began walking slowly around her.

Eva immediately disliked it.

He moved with terrifying quietness for someone his size. The long black coat shifted behind him like liquid shadow, brushing across frost-covered stone without making a sound.

She turned carefully to keep him in sight.

“Do all mortals stare this openly at gods?” he asked.

“Do all gods enjoy answering questions with more questions?”

“You are remarkably unafraid.”

“That’s because I’m exhausted.”

That, at least, was true.

Fear required energy. Eva had spent most of hers somewhere around the third mountain pass two nights ago.

Acheron stopped beside the altar.

“You crossed the veil carrying a fragmented soul,” he said. “You performed a forbidden summoning ritual incorrectly. You survived direct contact with divine death.”

His gaze settled on her again.

“None of those things are possible.”

Eva shrugged weakly. “Maybe tonight is just difficult for everybody.”

The guardian nearest the altar hissed softly.

Acheron ignored it again.

He extended one gloved hand toward the satchel across her chest.

Eva stepped back instantly.

The shadows around the ruins snapped toward her in response.

Acheron froze.

So did the shadows.

The silence that followed felt heavy.

Very slowly, he lowered his hand.

“I will inspect the soul vessel,” he said.

“No.”

The answer left her mouth before caution could stop it.

Several guardians immediately rose halfway to their feet.

One of them pointed a skeletal blade toward her throat.

“You dare deny him?”

Eva’s pulse jumped, but she forced herself not to move.

“She’s my sister,” she said tightly. “Nobody touches that jar unless I agree.”

The guardian let out a low growl.

Acheron, however, looked almost thoughtful.

“Every mortal who enters my domain begs for mercy,” he murmured.

Eva swallowed back her fear.

“I’m not asking for mercy.”

“What are you asking for?”

“A deal.”

The storm rumbled violently overhead.

Acheron regarded her in silence for a moment longer before turning away from her completely.

“No.”

The word landed like a physical blow.

Eva stared at him.

“…What?”

“I do not negotiate with mortals.”

“You literally appeared because of a summoning ritual.”

“You summoned me,” he corrected calmly. “That does not obligate me to care.”

Anger flashed hot through her chest.

For the first time since arriving at the ruins, something inside her cracked open completely.

Not fear.

Desperation.

“You think I climbed through storms and graveyards for fun?” she snapped. “You think I walked into death’s front door because I had nowhere better to be?”

The guardians shifted uneasily.

Acheron remained still.

Eva’s voice shook despite her effort to steady it.

“She’s twenty years old,” she said. “She likes terrible songs and burns soup every single time she cooks. She cries during stupid romance stories and cheats at cards when she thinks nobody notices. She’s not supposed to die.”

The wind had gone strangely quiet again.

Eva realized too late that she was breathing too hard.

Wonderful.

Now she was having an emotional breakdown in front of a cosmic entity.

Exactly the sort of dignity she had hoped to maintain.

Acheron watched her with that same unreadable expression.

“You misunderstand the nature of death, Evangeline Sol.”

The sound of her name in his voice startled her.

She had never told him her name.

“You take people,” she said coldly. “I understand that part perfectly.”

“I preserve balance.”

“You preserve corpses.”

A dangerous silence followed.

One of the guardians whispered, horrified, “She insults the throne.”

Eva was beginning to suspect self-preservation was not one of her stronger personality traits.

Acheron stepped toward her again.

The shadows spread across the ruins behind him like black wings.

“You believe grief makes you brave,” he said quietly.

Eva met his gaze.

“No,” she replied. “Grief makes me angry.”

For the first time since appearing from the abyss, the Lord of Death looked genuinely interested in her answer.

Not softened.

Not kinder.

Worse.

Interested.

And somehow, Eva suddenly understood something deeply unsettling.

Acheron had existed for so long that almost nothing surprised him anymore.

But she did.

That made her dangerous.

The realization hit at exactly the same moment the ground beneath the ruins trembled again.

A deep roar echoed from somewhere below the mountain.

The guardians turned sharply toward the open abyss.

One of them hissed, “The veil is destabilizing.”

Blue fire surged violently through the cracks in the altar.

Acheron’s gaze snapped toward the darkness below.

For the first time, tension entered his posture.

Not fear.

Urgency.

The shadows around the ruins began moving faster now, twisting unnaturally through the storm winds.

Eva tightened her grip on the satchel instinctively.

“What’s happening?”

Acheron looked back at her.

And although his expression remained cold, something dangerous now burned beneath the silver of his eyes.

“You,” he said, “have become a problem.”