The heartbeat stopped after exactly seven seconds.

Eva counted.

Mostly because the silence afterward felt dangerous enough to require measurement.

Acheron stood perfectly still at the center of the hall, pale hand still pressed against his chest. The silver glow beneath his skin slowly dimmed, though tension remained locked across his shoulders like iron chains.

Eva watched him carefully.

“You know,” she said cautiously, “where I come from, sudden chest pain followed by emotional instability is generally considered concerning.”

His eyes snapped toward her immediately.

Silver.

Sharp.

Cold enough to frost over windows.

And yet somehow, impossibly, she could still remember the sound of that heartbeat echoing through the hall.

Acheron lowered his hand slowly.

“You speak too freely.”

“You nearly exploded.”

“I did not.”

“The walls disagreed.”

The blue flames in the chandeliers flickered violently at her words.

Interesting.

Apparently the palace itself reacted to his moods.

That felt deeply unhealthy architecturally.

Acheron pulled one glove back onto his hand with slow, precise movements. Eva noticed immediately that he avoided looking at his bare skin while doing it.

Not vanity.

Discomfort.

No.

Fear.

That realization sent a strange chill down her spine.

The Lord of Death was afraid of something happening to him.

And somehow, she was involved.

Wonderful.

Exactly the sort of situation every woman hoped to accidentally stumble into.

Acheron finally turned away from her and began walking toward the enormous staircase at the far end of the hall.

“Come.”

Eva remained exactly where she was.

“No.”

He stopped.

Slowly, he looked back over one shoulder.

The shadows across the floor had already begun moving again.

“Oh, good,” Eva muttered. “The terrifying silence is back.”

“You are bound to this palace.”

“Yes, and I hate that for me.”

“Then do not force me to repeat myself.”

Eva crossed her arms.

“I would first like several things clarified.”

A pause.

Then, with visible reluctance:

“Speak.”

Progress.

Tiny progress.

Eva pointed vaguely around the palace hall.

“Am I your prisoner?”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful. Love the honesty. Second question: am I going to die horribly here?”

Acheron considered this.

Far too long.

“That depends.”

“That is an extraordinarily bad answer.”

The shadows near the staircase twitched sharply.

Acheron ignored them.

“You disrupted the veil between realms,” he said calmly. “Until I understand why, you remain under my supervision.”

Eva stared at him.

“You say supervision in a way that sounds deeply threatening.”

“It is.”

At least he was consistent.

Eva sighed heavily and started up the staircase after him.

The palace interior only became stranger the farther they walked.

The corridors stretched endlessly beneath towering black arches. Massive silver mirrors lined the walls, though none of them reflected properly. Some showed empty hallways behind her instead of her reflection. Others reflected entirely different rooms.

Eva stopped in front of one mirror abruptly.

In its surface, she appeared alone.

Acheron was missing.

“That,” she announced firmly, “is the sort of thing people should warn visitors about.”

Acheron did not slow his pace.

“The mirrors do not recognize gods.”

“Of course they don’t,” Eva muttered. “That would apparently be too normal.”

They passed servants occasionally as they moved deeper into the palace.

Every single one reacted the same way.

The moment they saw Acheron, they lowered their heads immediately and pressed themselves against the walls in complete silence.

No one looked directly at him.

No one spoke.

One servant carrying silver goblets dropped the tray entirely when Acheron walked past.

The metal crashed loudly across the black floor.

The servant went deathly pale.

Eva turned instinctively toward the poor man.

“It’s fine—”

The servant flinched before she even finished speaking.

Not from her.

From Acheron.

The entire corridor froze.

The servant dropped to both knees immediately, shaking so hard the goblets rattled across the floor beside him.

“My Lord,” he whispered hoarsely, “forgive me.”

Eva blinked.

Oh.

That was not ordinary fear.

That was survival fear.

Acheron looked down at the servant with complete indifference.

“Clean it.”

The servant nearly collapsed with relief.

Relief.

Because he had not been killed for dropping a tray.

Eva stared after him as they continued walking.

“Nobody here likes you very much.”

Acheron’s expression remained unreadable.

“They obey.”

“That was not my observation.”

Silence.

Then:

“Fear maintains order.”

Eva frowned slightly.

That answer bothered her more than she expected.

The corridors grew colder as they climbed higher into the palace towers. Frost curled across the windows in silver patterns, though there was no visible snow outside now — only endless darkness beyond the glass.

Acheron finally stopped before a massive iron door.

Symbols glowed faintly across its surface.

The door opened on its own.

Eva stepped inside cautiously.

And stopped.

The room was enormous.

Not luxurious in the way mortal nobles decorated their homes with gold and silk and ridiculous statues of themselves. This room felt old. Heavy. Quiet.

A fire burned inside a black marble hearth.

Bookshelves stretched floor to ceiling along one wall. Dark green velvet curtains framed towering windows overlooking the silver river far below.

And in the far corner stood a massive bed draped in deep charcoal fabric.

Eva turned slowly toward Acheron.

“…You have guest rooms.”

“You are not a guest.”

“Yes, you’ve really made that emotionally clear.”

Acheron ignored her again.

Honestly, it was becoming offensive.

“You will remain here,” he said. “You are forbidden from entering the lower sanctums of the palace.”

“The what?”

“You are forbidden from speaking to the dead without permission.”

“That somehow raises additional questions.”

“You are forbidden from attempting escape.”

Eva stared at him.

“I crossed a mountain range and accidentally caused an interdimensional crisis. I am currently far too tired to escape anything.”

Acheron’s silver eyes studied her face for a long moment.

Then his gaze shifted downward slightly.

Eva frowned.

“What?”

“You are injured.”

She looked down.

Ah.

Right.

Somewhere during the collapsing ruins and soul-monster incident, the sleeve of her coat had torn completely open. A shallow cut stretched along her forearm beneath dried blood and rainwater.

“I’ve had worse,” she said dismissively.

Acheron stepped closer.

The temperature in the room dropped instantly.

Eva’s pulse reacted immediately, which was deeply irritating.

The closer he moved, the warmer her skin felt.

That absolutely should not have been happening.

Acheron lifted one gloved hand slowly toward her arm.

Then stopped.

His fingers hovered inches above her skin.

Eva noticed the hesitation immediately.

Again.

Interesting.

His expression darkened slightly.

Like he hated that hesitation existed at all.

Finally, very carefully, he touched her wrist.

Heat exploded through both of them.

Eva gasped sharply.

Acheron’s entire body went rigid.

The fire in the hearth surged violently upward.

The shadows across the walls twisted like living creatures.

And beneath his glove—

His heartbeat returned.

Once.

Heavy enough to shake the air between them.

Eva looked up instantly.

Acheron was already staring at her.

This close, his silver eyes no longer looked empty.

They looked starving.

The realization sent heat racing violently through her chest.

Then he released her so abruptly she nearly stumbled backward.

The heartbeat vanished.

Silence crashed into the room again.

Acheron turned away immediately, shadows snapping sharply around him like angry wings.

“You will remain inside your chambers tonight.”

Eva was still trying to recover from whatever the hell that had been.

“…Right,” she managed.

He moved toward the doorway.

Then paused without looking back at her.

“The servants will bring food.”

Eva blinked in surprise.

“You feed prisoners here?”

“You are mortal.”

“That did not answer the question.”

Acheron finally glanced back over his shoulder.

His expression had become cold again.

Controlled again.

But she noticed now how tightly he held that control together.

Like something beneath it kept trying to break free.

“If anyone besides me enters this room uninvited,” he said quietly, “do not let them touch you.”

Eva frowned immediately.

“That sounds ominous.”

Acheron opened the door.

“In this palace,” he said, “everything is.”