Mia made a choked sound from somewhere behind them. Ava heard her stand, heard her footsteps moving toward the elevator.
“Mia…”
“I can’t.” Her voice was thick with tears. “I can’t be here. I can’t look at you. I can’t…” The elevator doors opened. “Just fix it. Whatever you have to do. Fix it.”
She was gone before Ava could respond.
Victor hadn’t moved. He was still kneeling beside her, still staring at the chains pulsing beneath her skin. His tie was loosened, his jacket gone; he must have abandoned it somewhere between the office and here. She’d never seen him look so undone.
“Why?” The word came out broken.
“Because you would have stopped me. Or traded yourself instead.” Ava met his eyes. “I couldn’t let you sacrifice yourself for my family.”
“So you did it first.”
“I did what was necessary.”
He laughed, a terrible sound, hollow and sharp. “Necessary. You’ve damned yourself for eternity and you call it necessary.”
“My parents are free. Nine generations of my bloodline. The debt is gone.”
“And you belong to a Duke of Hell.” He stood abruptly, turning away from her. His shoulders were shaking. “Everything you are. Everything you could become. His property. Forever.”
“Victor…”
“The substitution isn’t formalized yet.” He cut her off. The mask again, the one he wore when he couldn’t afford to feel. “Marchosias hasn’t accepted it. Hasn’t appeared to claim what you’ve offered. There’s a window.”
“What kind of window?”
“Demon law requires substitutions to be formally accepted at court. The transfer has to be witnessed, acknowledged, sealed.” He still wasn’t looking at her. “Marchosias holds court once a week. If we can challenge the transfer before he accepts it, argue that the original debt was fraudulent, that Lilith exceeded her authority…”
“There’s a chance.”
“A small one.”
Ava used the couch to pull herself upright. Her legs shook beneath her. The chains pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat, not painful anymore, but present. A weight she’d carry forever if they failed.
“When’s his next court?”
“Tonight. Midnight.”
She looked at the clock on Victor’s wall. Just past eleven in the morning.
“Thirteen hours.”
“To get to Hell, find someone who can get us an audience, and make our case before Marchosias formally accepts your soul.” Victor finally turned to face her. The mask had cracked. Beneath it, she saw exhaustion. Fear. Grief. “Those aren’t good odds.”
“They’re the only odds we have.”
He crossed to her slowly. Stopped just out of arm’s reach, like he was afraid to touch her. Like the chains might burn him too.
“I would have found another way.” His voice had lost its professional edge. “I would have spent centuries looking. I would have burned every contract in—” He stopped. His mouthworked but nothing came out. He pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes and just stood there.
She closed the distance between them, taking his hands in hers. The chains glowed brighter at the contact, or maybe that was her imagination. “That’s why I couldn’t wait.”
He pulled her against his chest. She felt him shaking. Felt the bond between them flickering like a candle in wind, still there, still fighting, but weakened. Strained.
“Not alone,” she said into his shoulder.
