The thought stopped her in her tracks. She was surrounded by spirits of the dead, had been living in the death realm for weeks, and she'd never once asked about seeing her parents.
What did that say about her?
The shadows around them thickened in response to her distress, forming a stronger barrier between her and the spirits. She noticed how they moved like anchors, keeping her grounded instead of drifting into the past.
"This way," Dante said, guiding her toward a massive Gothic mansion that held steady while the landscape shifted around it. His voice was still rough. He still wasn't looking at her directly.
She followed in silence, hyperaware of the space between them. Of the tension radiating from his shoulders with every step.
As they approached, the spirits' movements became more organized near the palace. Less frantic. Even the cobblestones seemed more solid.
"Thessa's influence," Dante explained, and she heard the relief in his voice at having something safe to discuss. "She helps them find resolution when they're ready, but she doesn't force it."
The iron gates recognized his authority and rearranged themselves, metal flowing like water to create a passage. The courtyard beyond defied logic. Water cascaded from floating pools, staircases spiraling in impossible directions.
"Remember," he said as they climbed the front steps. "Don't let yourself get caught. Stay focused on our purpose."
"I understand," she said, and let him hear the edge in her voice.
The massive doors swung open before they reached them.
A figure materialized from the shadows between the portraits. More solid than the spirits outside, but still translucent. She wore robes that seemed woven from mist.
"Lord Reaper. I am Maren, Lady Thessa's servant. She has been expecting you both."
They followed Maren through corridors that stretched and shrank according to a mysterious logic.
The door opened onto a salon where silver furniture reflected light from an unseen source. Mirrors lined the walls, showing not reflections but scenes from different moments in time.
Lady Thessa sat in a chair that seemed to exist across multiple moments at once, her gown shifting between translucent and solid.
"Lord Reaper. And the living one who walks among the dead." Her voice came from everywhere at once. "I have been expecting you."
"We're investigating the ward failures," Dante said.
"Ah, yes. The unraveling." She gestured to the mirrors, and Brynn glimpsed a complex web of glowing lines. The ward network overlaid with damaged sections, crumbling boundaries. "Spirits whisper of visitors who come before the breaking. Of questions asked about designs meant to endure."
Dante's attention sharpened. "Visitors from which courts?"
Thessa's form flickered. "Violence came seeking patterns of destruction. Consumption came seeking vulnerabilities. Mercy came seeking knowledge of transitions."
All three courts. All with reasons that could be innocent or damning.
"When did they visit?" Brynn asked, earning a sharp look from Dante.
Thessa's gaze fixed on her with unnerving intensity. "Time moves strangely here. Was it yesterday? A year ago? Tomorrow?" Her smile was unsettling. "They each came asking questions. Some more pointed than others."
"That's not particularly helpful," Dante said, frustration edging his tone.
"Violence asked about ward resilience. How much damage they could withstand. Consumption asked about power redistributionwhen boundaries fail. Mercy asked about peaceful transitions. Whether failing wards could be guided into gentler configurations."
"All reasonable questions for Death Lords concerned about the system's integrity," Dante said.
"Indeed. Or reasonable questions for one who wishes to exploit it."
Brynn leaned forward. "Did any of them ask about the same specific wards?"
"Perceptive." Thessa's smile was approving. "All three showed particular interest in the secondary anchor points. The keystones that support the primary wards but are less obviously protected."
