“Victor.” She turned to face him. The chains glowed brighter in the darkness, casting his features in gold. “Marchosias holds court at midnight. If we don’t contest the substitution before he formally accepts it, I’m his forever. You said that yourself.”
“I know what I said.”
“Then open the door.”
He didn’t move. His fear reached her—not of Hell itself, but of taking her there. Of watching her walk into the domain of the demon who now held claim to her soul.
“I’ve walked through that door a hundred times,” he said. “Never once did I care what waited on the other side. Now I care. And it terrifies me.”
She rose on her toes and kissed him. Brief. Fierce.
“With you,” she said. “Remember?”
He pressed his palm flat against the ancient wood. The brand, the three flames from the hearth ritual, flared red enough to cast shadows.
The door swung inward on silent hinges.
Beyond it was not a room.
Beyond it was an ocean.
Black water stretched into darkness in every direction. No shores. No horizon. Just liquid that moved like oil, thick and slow, whispering in voices too low to parse. A boat waited at the edge: bone fused into bone, ribs forming the hull, something that might have been a spine serving as the mast. The Ferrymanstood at the stern, hooded. Skeletal hands gripped an oar made from a femur too large to be human.
“Payment?” The voice sounded like stones grinding together in the deep.
Victor walked to the edge. He pulled out a silver knife, the same one from the hearth ritual, and drew it across his left palm. Not the branded one. Blood welled up, darker than it should be in this light, and dripped onto the bone deck. It hissed where it landed.
The Ferryman’s hood turned toward Ava.
She understood. Her hand found her cheek; tears already there. Fear made them come easily. She let them fall onto the bone with soft sounds, each drop vanishing into the pale surface like rain into sand.
The boat rocked gently.
Victor helped her aboard. The bones beneath her feet were smooth and worn, polished by countless crossings. They felt warm. Fever-warm. Like something alive.
The Ferryman pushed off. The door swung shut behind them with a sound like a tomb sealing.
They moved into darkness.
The river had no current.No waves. Just that constant whispering: thousands of voices speaking in languages she almost recognized, saying things she was grateful she couldn’t understand.
Ava couldn’t see the shores, if there were shores. Couldn’t see anything except the boat, Victor beside her, and the Ferryman’s hooded form working the oar in endless, identical strokes.
Then the chains woke up.
The golden light beneath her skin flared bright, too bright. Heat spread through her veins like liquid fire. The chains weren’t just markings anymore. They werepulling.
Toward something. Towardsomeone.
Marchosias.
“Victor—” She grabbed for him as the boat lurched. The chains burned hotter, brighter, the golden veins spreading up her arms, across her shoulders, climbing toward her throat like vines seeking sunlight.
“I know.” His hands found her wrists, gripping tight. “They’re responding to proximity. You’re getting closer to their master.”
“It hurts.”
“Hold on. Just hold on.”
