"Stop what?"
"Whatever you're telling yourself. I can feel you spiraling."
"You came for me," she whispered. "And I?—"
"You survived." His arms tightened around her. "You stayed alive until I reached you. Everything else we'll handle together."
Together.
She was too exhausted to push him away. Too broken to do anything except let him carry her while catastrophe settled like lead in her chest.
We'll fix it, he'd said.
She wanted to believe him.
She wasn't sure she could.
LXVIII.
DANTE
Dante had known the other Death Lords would demand answers eventually.
He hadn't expected it to be this soon.
One hour since returning from Caelum's refinery. Since carrying her through the palace while she shook with sobs and guilt that wasn't hers to bear. Since getting her to his chambers and spending twenty minutes cleaning blood from her wrists, where those cursed restraints had cut deep.
She'd finally collapsed against his pillows, fatigue dragging her under. But even unconscious, her expression twisted with self-blame.
His shadows had refused to leave her even when he'd stepped away—curled around her wrists over the bandages, threaded through her hair, wrapped around her throat like a possessive collar.
He'd left her to check on his domain.
His realm was failing. The Tower of Screaming Winds had gone silent, no new souls to fuel its purpose. The Weeping Marshes receded, saltwater pools drying without fresh grief. Ward-stones throughout his domain pulsed irregularly.
A day, maybe two, before collapse.
His death-knights were already reporting instability. Souls becoming agitated, confused by the sudden cessation. His servantsasking questions he couldn't answer yet. And the other realms were suffering the same, all of them being starved while Caelum harvested everything.
That's when his death-knight had arrived with the summons. A demand from three Death Lords who'd discovered their soul-flow had been completely severed.
A subtle tremor ran through the palace—one of his ward-stones failing somewhere in the outer realms.
The Reaper within him wanted blood. Wanted to return to that facility and tear Caelum apart slowly. But she needed him here. That mattered more than vengeance at the moment.
The shadows brought another warning: multiple powerful presences materializing in his throne room without permission.
His nature snarled at the invasion.
A moment later, his study door opened without a knock.
Aldric stood there, armor scorched from containing the power signatures flooding the throne room.
"My lord. The other Death Lords are here. They transported directly into?—"
"I felt it." His jaw clenched. "Who's here?"
"Seraphina, Vex, and Thessa." The knight hesitated. "Lady Seraphina is volatile. They're demanding your presence immediately."
