After the breach in the southern sanctums, the palace changed.

Not visibly.

The walls still whispered after midnight. The servants still moved like frightened ghosts through endless black corridors. The dead still drifted silently across the silver river beneath the palace windows.

But something underneath it all had shifted.

The Court watched Eva differently now.

Not merely with suspicion.

With calculation.

Because word had spread.

The mortal girl had touched the Lord of Death while he bled.

And survived.

Worse—

He had allowed it.

Eva discovered this approximately twelve hours later when three palace servants nearly dropped an entire shelf of books after she walked into the library.

At this point, she was beginning to take it personally.

“I promise,” she informed the horrified young man clutching a stack of silver manuscripts, “I am significantly less dangerous than your employer.”

The servant looked unconvinced.

Then again, considering recent events, Eva herself was becoming unconvinced too.

The palace library remained one of the few places in the Underworld she genuinely liked.

Mostly because books rarely tried to kill her.

The vast circular chamber stretched upward through several floors of the palace tower, packed wall-to-wall with towering black shelves and silver ladders. Blue fire floated softly between the aisles while enormous windows overlooked the endless darkness outside.

And unlike the Court—

The library smelled alive.

Dust.

Ink.

Leather.

Old paper.

Not death.

Eva sat cross-legged near the fireplace beneath one of the tall windows, surrounded by open books she only half understood.

Apparently ancient gods enjoyed writing in languages designed specifically to insult grammar.

One heavy tome lay open across her knees, filled with diagrams of soul fractures and ancient contracts.

Every few pages included warnings written in increasingly dramatic handwriting.

That felt promising.

Eva rubbed absently at the fading silver marks beneath her wrist.

The contract had changed since the sanctum attack.

She felt it now constantly.

A low pulse beneath her skin.

Warm when Acheron stood nearby.

Cold whenever he disappeared too long into the lower palace.

That probably wasn’t emotionally healthy.

Neither was the fact she kept thinking about him bleeding.

Gods should not bleed.

More importantly—

They definitely should not look at her like that afterward.

The memory alone sent heat crawling embarrassingly up her neck.

Eva immediately glared at the book in her lap as though the pages were responsible.

“You are handling this situation terribly,” she informed herself quietly.

“Handling what terribly?”

Eva nearly launched the book directly into the fireplace.

Acheron stood at the far end of the library aisle dressed entirely in black again, shadows pooling lazily around his boots.

Honestly, the man moved too quietly for someone approximately the size of a cathedral door.

Eva pressed one hand dramatically against her chest.

“One day,” she informed him, “you are going to accidentally kill someone simply by appearing behind them.”

“You were distracted.”

“Yes, because I enjoy living in denial.”

Acheron stepped farther into the library.

The shadows followed automatically.

Eva noticed immediately that they moved differently around him tonight.

Slower.

Restless.

Almost curious.

Interesting.

His silver eyes lowered briefly toward the books surrounding her.

“What are you reading?”

Eva blinked once.

That was—

Unexpectedly normal.

Dangerously normal.

She lifted the heavy tome slightly.

“Apparently I’m researching all the horrifying ways magical contracts can ruin my life.”

Acheron approached slowly.

The warmth beneath the contract immediately stirred beneath her skin.

There it was again.

That impossible reaction.

His presence no longer felt entirely cold.

Which felt deeply unfair considering he was literally death incarnate.

Acheron stopped beside the chair opposite her near the fireplace.

The silver cracks beneath his gloves glimmered faintly beneath the firelight.

His wound had healed.

Mostly.

Eva noticed immediately that he still held himself carefully on one side.

Interesting.

“You should be resting,” he said.

Eva stared at him.

“I’m sorry, are you giving me health advice?”

“You nearly exhausted yourself during the breach.”

“You were stabbed by an interdimensional nightmare.”

“It failed.”

“Yes, well, technically so did my sleep schedule.”

A faint twitch moved through his expression.

There.

Again.

That almost-smile.

Eva narrowed her eyes immediately.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Acting suspiciously close to human.”

The shadows near his feet twisted sharply.

Amused shadows now.

Remarkable.

Acheron’s gaze drifted briefly toward the fireplace.

Then toward her.

Then lower.

Toward the blanket draped loosely around her shoulders.

Toward the bare skin visible beneath her collarbone.

The air between them shifted instantly.

Heavy.

Still.

Eva’s pulse betrayed her immediately.

Wonderful.

Acheron noticed too.

Of course he did.

His silver eyes darkened slightly.

And then—

For the first time since she met him—

He moved toward her first.

Not because of danger.

Not because of the contract.

Not because she touched him accidentally.

Deliberately.

Eva forgot how to breathe for approximately three full seconds.

Acheron stopped directly beside the chair.

Too close.

Always too close.

The warmth beneath the contract surged painfully beneath her ribs.

His shadows curled slowly around the legs of her chair like dark water.

Not threatening.

Possessive.

The realization hit hard enough to make her stomach tighten.

Acheron looked down at her with that same unreadable expression he always wore before doing something emotionally catastrophic.

“You smell like smoke,” he said quietly.

Eva blinked.

“…I was sitting beside a fireplace.”

“I know.”

That somehow felt worse.

The library had gone completely silent around them now.

Even the floating blue flames seemed motionless.

Eva became painfully aware of everything all at once.

The heat from the fire.

The softness of the blanket around her shoulders.

The size of him standing this close.

And beneath all of it—

That heartbeat.

Steady now.

Alive.

The sound echoed softly through the contract connecting them.

Acheron’s gaze lowered briefly toward her throat.

Toward the pulse fluttering there.

The hunger in his eyes nearly stole the air from her lungs.

Not violent hunger.

Something worse.

Controlled hunger.

The kind starving men developed when they’d spent centuries denying themselves something they suddenly could not stop wanting.

Eva’s voice came out softer than intended.

“You’re staring again.”

“I am aware.”

“That’s usually the part where people look away.”

“I know.”

He still didn’t.

The shadows around her chair tightened slightly.

Not enough to trap.

Enough to hold.

Acheron slowly lifted one gloved hand toward her face.

Hesitation.

Always hesitation.

His fingers brushed lightly against one loose curl near her cheek.

Heat exploded through the library.

Eva inhaled sharply.

The shadows throughout the room shuddered violently.

And for the first time—

Acheron closed his eyes.

Not long.

Just one second.

But it felt devastating somehow.

Like touching her required more restraint than fighting monsters.

When his eyes opened again, the silver had darkened nearly black.

“You are becoming difficult to ignore,” he said quietly.

Eva’s pulse stumbled hard.

“Well,” she whispered back, “that sounds dangerously close to honesty.”