“No, I mean…” He set down the container, frowning. “Something’s off. You’re sitting differently. Your hands are in your lap instead of…” He gestured vaguely at his own chest. “You always touch that necklace thing when you’re thinking. Like, constantly. It’s one of your tells.”
Ava glanced down. He was right. Her hands lay flat on the table, nowhere near the jade. She made herself reach for it, made herself perform the gesture that should have been automatic.
The stone was there. The comfort wasn’t.
“Long night,” she said.
Derek’s eyes flicked to Victor, who gave a minute shake of his head.Don’t ask.Derek, to his credit, caught the signal and pivoted smoothly.
“Right. Long night. Sure. That explains why you both look like you’ve been hit by a truck made of existential dread.” He busied himself distributing containers. “Pad thai for the damned, green curry for the demon, and… what did you want again, Ava? I got you the drunken noodles but I can…”
“It’s fine. Thank you.”
The gentleness in her voice made him pause again. Derek wasn’t stupid. He could tell something had happened,something beyond the usual supernatural chaos. But he also knew when to stop pushing.
Ava picked at a spring roll while Derek set up his laptop. Victor’s attention was split between the presentation and her—she could feel him monitoring her reactions, searching for cracks in her composure.
She made sure he didn’t find any.
“Okay.” Derek pulled up a projection, filling the wall with images of clay tablets and medieval manuscripts. “The Right of Substitution. I’ve been digging since Victor texted me at 3 AM, which, by the way, is not a normal time to receive homework assignments. Some of us need sleep to function. Some of us are mortal. Some of us were in the middle of a very promising dream about… you know what, never mind. Point is, I’ve been researching.”
“Derek.”
“Right. Focusing.” He clicked to the first slide: cuneiform that Ava recognized from her vision, the knowledge still burning clear in her mind. “The ritual is real. Ancient. Predates most of modern demonic law. And it is, technically, a valid way to transfer a binding from one party to another.”
“Technically,” Victor repeated.
“Technically.” Derek’s expression went grim. “Because here’s the thing. The substitution requires three conditions. First: a willing substitute whose soul is of equal or greater value than the original signers.”
Victor’s hand tightened on the back of his chair.
“Second: the substitute must present themselves at a location of Marchosias’s choosing to formalize the transfer. His domain. His rules. His home field advantage.”
“And third?” Ava kept her voice neutral. Interested but detached. As if this were academic.
Derek met her eyes. “Once transferred, the binding cannot be undone. Ever. The substitute’s soul becomes Marchosias’s property for eternity. No appeals. No loopholes. No escape clauses.”
The words hung in the air. Ava absorbed them, added them to the knowledge already seared into her memory. The ritual. The requirements. The price.
“So I’d be trading my parents’ bondage for my own,” she said. “Permanently.”
“It’s worse than that.” Victor turned from the window, his expression giving nothing away. “You’re not just any human anymore, Ava. You’re soul-bonded to me. Your value to Marchosias isn’t just your soul; it’s the leverage you represent against a Morningstar.”
Derek nodded, pulling up another slide. “The bond makes you exponentially more valuable. Marchosias wouldn’t just be acquiring one soul. He’d be acquiring a direct line to one of the most powerful demons in existence. A pressure point. A weakness he could exploit for centuries.”
“So the ‘loophole’ Samael gave me is actually just a more elaborate trap.” Ava stood, her chair scraping back. She paced to the window, putting distance between herself and Victor’s too-perceptive gaze. “Trade my parents’ souls for mine, but hand Marchosias something even more valuable in the process.”
“Exactly.” Victor’s voice was tight with barely controlled fury. “Samael knew this. He knew the Right of Substitution was worthless to you specifically because of what we are. He took your memory and gave you nothing useful in return.”
Ava nodded. Said nothing.
But the ritual still burned in her mind, clear as crystal. Samael had taken thefeelingof learning it, not the knowledge itself. Every word was still there. Every requirement. Every step of the ceremony.
Worthless to you.Maybe. Maybe not.
“Not nothing,” she said carefully, turning back to face them. “We know Marchosias’s name now. We know Lilith used his authority without permission: his seal, his binding magic, all without consulting him. That’s leverage.”
“Against Lilith, maybe.” Victor started pacing, his controlled movements barely masking the rage beneath. “But Marchosias is a Duke of Hell. One of the oldest. He wrote most of modern demonic contract law. We’d be gambling that his pride is bigger than his greed.”
