Avoiding Acheron should have been easy.

That was the truly humiliating part.

The Lord of Death ruled an endless kingdom of shadows, ancient dead, political nightmares, and emotionally unstable gods. The palace alone contained enough corridors to lose entire armies.

And yet somehow, Eva kept noticing his absence everywhere.

It had been eight days since the northern tower.

Eight days since he stepped backward into shadow and told her to stay away from him.

Eight days since she realized the thought of obeying him made her chest hurt in ways she deeply resented.

The cold war between them infected the entire palace almost immediately.

Servants whispered constantly now. Court nobles watched them during assemblies with visible tension. Even Lucien had stopped making sarcastic comments, which honestly felt more alarming than the apocalypse beneath the palace.

Because the silence between Eva and Acheron was worse than their arguments had ever been.

At least anger meant connection.

This—

This felt like standing beside a grave.

Eva sat near the eastern palace gardens with a book open across her lap she had not actually read for the past twenty minutes. Pale flowers still bloomed impossibly along the black stone pathways, their white petals moving softly beneath silver wind.

Spring remained in the Underworld.

The Court hated that too.

Excellent.

The contract beneath her wrist pulsed faintly.

Distant.

Muted.

Acheron had learned how to suppress it somehow.

Or perhaps he simply buried himself so deeply beneath control now that even the bond between them struggled to reach him properly.

Either possibility irritated her enormously.

A shadow passed slowly over the garden path.

Eva looked up automatically.

Acheron crossed the far side of the courtyard surrounded by several Court officials, black coat shifting behind him while silver shadows moved silently at his feet.

He did not look toward her.

Not once.

The absence of the glance landed harder than it should have.

Eva hated that too.

Lucien appeared beside her bench several seconds later holding two cups of dark tea.

“You’re glaring at him again.”

“I’m not glaring.”

“You absolutely are.”

Eva accepted the tea with a deeply offended expression.

Lucien sat beside her casually.

Across the courtyard, Acheron continued speaking quietly with the Court officials while servants hurried nervously around him.

Even from this distance, he looked exhausted.

The silver cracks beneath his skin remained hidden again beneath gloves and high collars, but Eva noticed the strain in the rigid set of his shoulders.

He had not slept properly.

Not since the mirror.

The contract confirmed it every night.

Lucien leaned back against the bench.

“He dismissed three advisors this morning.”

Eva frowned slightly.

“For political reasons?”

“For suggesting you should leave the palace.”

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Her chest tightened painfully despite herself.

Lucien studied her quietly for a moment.

“You’re angry at him.”

“Yes.”

“You’re also worried about him.”

“No.”

Lucien looked openly unconvinced.

Eva stared into the dark tea in her hands.

“…Maybe slightly.”

“Tragic.”

“I genuinely may push you into the silver river one day.”

Lucien smiled faintly.

“You miss him.”

The statement landed too directly.

Eva looked away immediately toward the blooming gardens.

The worst part was that Lucien was right.

Not because she missed the tension.

Or the almost-kiss.

Or the terrifying emotional disasters constantly surrounding Acheron.

She missed the moments underneath all of that.

The quiet conversations in the library.

The hidden garden full of dead roses.

The way his shadows curled instinctively toward her before he noticed.

The realization settled slowly into her chest like grief.

Oh no.

That was bad.

Very bad.

Because somewhere between surviving gods, corpse tides, ancient abysses, and emotionally catastrophic tension—

She had started caring about him.

The thought terrified her more than the Underworld itself.

Across the courtyard, one of the Court officials bowed and departed quickly.

Acheron turned slightly afterward.

And for one brief terrible second—

His gaze met hers.

Everything stopped.

The contract flared instantly beneath her skin.

Not violently.

Longingly.

The silence between them suddenly felt enormous.

Acheron’s expression did not change.

But Eva saw it anyway.

The exhaustion.

The restraint.

The terrible aching distance he forced between them through sheer willpower.

And beneath all of it—

Want.

Not merely physical want.

Something worse.

The kind people carried when they loved something enough to fear destroying it.

Acheron looked away first.

The loss of the connection hurt more than she expected.

Lucien sighed quietly beside her.

“Well,” he muttered, “you’re both doomed.”

Eva did not answer.

Because at that exact moment, she realized something deeply unfair.

The silence between them had not lessened the feelings growing underneath the contract.

It had only made them impossible to ignore.

That night, Eva could not sleep.

Rain drifted softly against the palace windows while silver fire burned low beside her bed. She turned restlessly beneath heavy blankets, trying unsuccessfully to stop thinking about Acheron standing alone in the northern tower.

About the mirror.

About the fear in his voice when he admitted what he might become for her.

The contract pulsed faintly beneath her wrist.

Lonely.

The emotion hit sharply enough that Eva sat upright immediately.

No.

Not hers.

His.

Her chest tightened painfully.

Before she could reconsider the decision, Eva shoved the blankets aside and crossed quickly toward the chamber doors.

The palace corridors remained quiet at this hour. Shadows drifted lazily through silver firelight while distant thunder rolled softly beyond the enormous windows.

The contract guided her without resistance.

Down western corridors.

Past silent throne halls.

Toward the hidden garden.

Of course.

Eva stepped through the ancient iron doors carefully.

Moonlight flooded the garden beneath drifting white petals while silver fountains murmured softly through the darkness.

And there—

Beneath the flowering trees—

Stood Acheron.

Alone.

He did not turn around when she entered.

Interesting.

That meant he already knew she was there.

The shadows around the garden remained unnaturally still tonight.

Not restless.

Waiting.

Eva crossed the stone pathways slowly.

“You’re avoiding me badly enough that even the servants noticed.”

Silence followed.

Then, quietly:

“That was the intention.”

Eva stopped several feet behind him.

Moonlight silvered the edges of his black coat while pale flowers drifted softly around the garden.

He looked tired.

Anciently tired.

The realization hurt unexpectedly.

“You could have simply said you were afraid,” she said softly.

The shadows near the fountain shivered violently.

Acheron finally turned toward her.

The silver in his eyes looked darker beneath the moonlight.

“I am afraid.”

The honesty stole the breath from her lungs.

No denial.

No cold distance.

Just truth.

Eva stepped closer before she could stop herself.

“Acheron—”

“You should not say my name like that.”

Her pulse stumbled immediately.

“Like what?”

His gaze lowered briefly toward her mouth.

Then away again.

The restraint in the movement looked painful.

“Like it matters to you.”

The silence afterward became unbearable.

Because the terrible part was—

It did matter.

Far more than she wanted it to.

Eva looked at him standing beneath white roses and silver moonlight with shadows trembling softly around his feet.

And suddenly she understood something devastating:

The silence between their heartbeats no longer felt empty.

It felt full of everything they refused to say aloud.