After the almost-kiss in the corridor, Acheron avoided her completely.

Not subtly.

Not gracefully.

Catastrophically.

For three entire days, the Lord of Death vanished into the lower sanctums without explanation while the palace atmosphere deteriorated around his absence. The shadows throughout the halls became restless again, drifting through corridors in nervous waves like anxious animals searching for something missing.

Or someone.

Eva tried very hard not to think about that.

Unfortunately, her brain had recently developed an intense interest in self-destruction.

The memory loss had worsened slightly after the contract reacted in the corridor. Nothing devastating yet, but enough to terrify her quietly.

A song from childhood disappeared that morning while she braided her hair.

Gone completely.

She remembered singing it with her sister during storms.

But the melody itself no longer existed.

Only emptiness remained where it should have been.

Eva sat near the enormous palace windows afterward staring out over the silver river below while cold dread settled heavily in her chest.

How much of herself could disappear before she stopped being herself entirely?

The question followed her constantly now.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.

Lucien entered without waiting for permission, carrying a stack of papers beneath one arm and looking significantly less emotionally unstable than the rest of the palace.

Honestly refreshing.

“You look terrible,” he informed her immediately.

Eva accepted the insult calmly.

“That’s because my magical contract currently eats memories as a hobby.”

Lucien frowned slightly and crossed toward the fireplace.

The military commander had become one of the few people in the palace willing to speak normally around her. Mostly because he appeared fundamentally incapable of intimidation.

Or perhaps simply reckless.

Possibly both.

“You haven’t left these chambers properly in two days,” he said while dropping the papers onto a nearby table.

“Yes, because every time I go outside someone either tries to kill me politically or emotionally.”

“That narrows nothing in this palace.”

Fair point.

Lucien studied her carefully for a moment.

Then his expression shifted slightly.

“Something else happened.”

Eva looked away immediately.

Dangerous mistake.

Lucien noticed everything.

“You argued with him.”

“No.”

“Then you almost kissed him.”

Eva choked violently on absolutely nothing.

Lucien looked unbearably satisfied.

“Oh, that bad.”

“I dislike you enormously.”

“You didn’t deny it.”

Eva buried her face briefly in her hands.

“This kingdom is a nightmare.”

Lucien laughed softly and leaned one shoulder against the window arch beside her.

“You know the Court has started calling you Spring.”

Eva blinked once.

“…I’m sorry, what?”

“The lower sanctums changed after the catacomb collapse.”

That got her attention immediately.

Lucien’s amusement faded.

“The dead have started reacting differently around you.”

A cold unease settled slowly into Eva’s stomach.

“How differently?”

Lucien hesitated.

Which felt deeply concerning.

Finally, he spoke carefully.

“Souls that normally remain violent after death calm down when you’re nearby.”

Eva stared at him.

“That sounds medically impossible.”

“This is the Underworld. Medical logic surrendered centuries ago.”

Also fair.

Lucien pushed away from the window.

“There’s another issue.”

Wonderful.

The universe continued providing generously.

“A soul transport collapsed near the eastern river this morning,” he said quietly. “The dead became unstable before reaching the lower gates.”

Eva frowned.

“Why is that unusual?”

“Because they stopped moving when your name was mentioned.”

Silence followed.

Eva slowly lowered her hands from her face.

“No.”

Lucien’s expression remained grim.

“They listened.”

The contract beneath her wrist pulsed sharply.

Not cold.

Aware.

Before Eva could respond, the palace bells rang suddenly through the upper halls.

Not alarm bells this time.

Mourning bells.

Lucien cursed softly under his breath.

“The eastern transport.”

He turned immediately toward the chamber doors.

Eva stood at once.

“I’m coming.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“The eastern river is unstable.”

Eva crossed her arms tightly.

“So is my entire existence lately. We’ll adapt.”

Lucien opened his mouth to argue further.

Then stopped.

The shadows beneath the chamber walls had begun moving toward Eva again.

Interesting.

The Underworld apparently sided with her bad decisions.

The eastern riverbanks looked worse than the catacombs.

Hundreds of pale souls crowded the black shore beneath silver mist while palace guards struggled to contain them. Some spirits screamed violently against their chains. Others wandered aimlessly through the fog like broken memories searching for bodies long gone.

The air smelled wrong.

Like grief left too long in darkness.

Eva followed Lucien down the stone pathways carefully while nervous guards bowed as they passed.

Then the crowd shifted.

Not violently.

Instantly.

Every soul along the riverbank turned toward her.

The movement rolled through the dead in one massive wave.

Lucien went very still beside her.

“Oh,” he murmured quietly. “That’s new.”

The souls stared.

Thousands of pale faces drifting beneath silver fog.

Not hostile.

Waiting.

Eva’s pulse stumbled painfully.

The contract beneath her wrist burned warm now.

Not hungry.

Recognizing.

One small spirit broke away from the crowd first.

A little boy.

No older than seven.

His ghostly form flickered weakly beneath the river mist while silver chains dragged behind him across the stone.

He approached Eva slowly.

The guards immediately raised weapons.

“Stay back,” one shouted sharply.

The child flinched violently.

And suddenly Eva saw it.

Not a monster.

Not corruption.

Fear.

The same fear she remembered from hospitals and storms and nights when hunger lasted too long.

Without thinking, Eva stepped forward.

The guards reacted instantly.

“My lady—”

“He’s scared.”

“He’s dead.”

“Yes,” Eva snapped, “and apparently still having a worse day than everyone else.”

The child stopped several feet away from her.

His eyes looked hollow with confusion.

Like he no longer remembered where he belonged.

Eva recognized that feeling too well.

Slowly, carefully, she knelt before him.

The contract beneath her skin pulsed brightly.

Warmth spread outward across the riverbank.

Not magical warmth.

Spring warmth.

The kind carried in wet soil after winter finally breaks.

The little spirit stared at her.

Then, for the first time since arriving at the eastern river—

He smiled.

The entire Underworld changed.

It began small.

A single white flower pushed suddenly through the cracks between black river stones near Eva’s feet.

Then another.

Then dozens.

The silver mist across the eastern river trembled violently while pale blossoms spread across the dead shore in impossible waves.

The guards froze.

Lucien stared openly.

And somewhere deep beneath the palace foundations—

The abyss answered.

Not with hunger this time.

Recognition.

The warmth continued spreading across the riverbanks while the dead souls slowly quieted one by one beneath the blooming flowers.

No screaming.

No violence.

Only silence.

Peaceful silence.

Eva looked around in disbelief.

“That,” she whispered faintly, “cannot possibly be normal.”

“No,” came Acheron’s voice behind her, low and stunned. “It is not.”

Eva turned sharply.

He stood several steps above the riverbank dressed entirely in black, silver eyes fixed not on her—

But on the flowers blooming through the Underworld itself.

Around him, the shadows had gone perfectly still.

And for the first time since the beginning of death—

Spring had entered the kingdom below the veil.