Outside, October pre-dawn bit sharp and clean. The city was beginning to wake around them: delivery trucks, coffee shop lights, ordinary people starting ordinary days.
“What did you lose?” Ava asked. “The memory Whitmore took.”
Victor turned his hands over, studying them like he expected to see something different. “I don’t know. That’s the point. There’s a gap where something used to be. I know I lost something that mattered. I just can’t remember what.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Whatever it was, it was weighing me down. Maybe I’m lighter now.”
They walked toward his Tesla. The tablet was warm where it pressed against Ava’s chest, wrapped in Victor’s jacket.
“Six days,” she said. “We have six days to prepare for a Duke of Hell.”
“We have what we need. And Grimm didn’t stop us.” Victor frowned. “He could have. He chose not to.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. But I intend to find out.”
They drove home through the waking city.
In the archive, Ava had seen something else. Another tablet, smaller and darker, tucked in the far corner of the third shelf. The actual ritual instructions for the Right of Substitution. The words of power Samael had burned into her mind.
She hadn’t mentioned it. Hadn’t reached for it. But she’d noted the location: third shelf from the floor, far left corner, behind a cracked tablet that might have been a shopping list.
Just in case.
The city scrolled past the windows. Victor’s hand found hers across the console.
Six days until they faced a Duke of Hell.
She was terrified. She was ready.
And she was keeping secrets from the man she loved.
CHAPTER 20
Ava waited until Victor left for the office.
He’d been reluctant to go, hovering in the doorway, watching her with that too-perceptive gaze. The bond hummed with his unease. Some flicker of her intent leaking through despite her best efforts to keep it buried.
“I’ll be fine,” she’d said, kissing him. “Go handle Grimm. I’ll rest.”
The lie came easily. Too easily.
Now she stood alone in the penthouse, morning light streaming through the windows, the tablet from the archives sitting on Victor’s desk. They were supposed to use it together. Present it to Marchosias as leverage. Appeal to a Duke’s vanity and hope he cared more about his reputation than Lilith’s fifteen-year investment.
Hope.
Five days until the deadline. Five days until her parents’ souls belonged to Marchosias forever.
Victor’s plan was good. Thoughtful. Legally sound. But “good” wasn’t the same as “certain.” And if it failed… if Marchosias ruled against them, if he decided Lilith’s contractswere valid, if he simply didn’t care about his reputation enough to void fifteen years of carefully constructed debt…
She couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t gamble her family’s souls on the ego of a demon she’d never met.
The ritual burned in her mind. Clear as the day Samael had carved it there. Every word. Every gesture. Every requirement.
A willing substitute of equal or greater value.
