The sky is wrong.

I notice it immediately as we step outside, my boots meeting solid ground that feels almost like stone but shifts just slightly beneath my weight. There is light, but there is no sun. Instead, the sky is cast in a muted gold, the glow diffused and unnatural, like the embers of a fire that never truly dies.

The air is cool but carries no wind, only a quiet stillness that makes my skin prickle. In the distance, jagged mountains rise from the ground, their peaks cutting against the sky like broken teeth. The trees look like trees. Some with deep green leaves, some stripped bare, but the colors are faded, dulled, as if everything here is just a shade removed from life.

Even the grass beneath my feet, if it can even be called that, feels wrong. It is soft, but when I glance down, the color is muted, a grayish-green that does not quite match the world I know.

Everything is close to familiar. But not quite.

Malphas walks beside me, moving with an effortless ease that makes my own steps feel unnatural in comparison. His hands are clasped behind his back, his long black coat shifting with each movement in time with his shadows.

"This," he says, gesturing outward, "is my kingdom."

I arch a brow, glancing at him. "I thought you ruled a realm of shadows and lost souls."

His lips curve, just barely. "The two are not so different."

He speaks as though he is giving me a lesson, pointing out structures in the distance. There are massive, darkened buildings with spires that curve unnaturally, statues of creatures I do not recognize, bridges that lead to nowhere. He tells me of the history of the land, of the creatures that reside here, of the way this realm bends to power.

But I am barely listening.

Because I am not here to learn about his world.

I cut him off mid-sentence. "The contract."

Malphas pauses. His black eyes flick to mine, assessing. "What about it?"

"You told me I would need to fulfill it before I could return home." My fingers curl into fists at my sides. "What does it entail?"

For a moment, he says nothing.

Then, with infuriating ease, he replies, "I cannot tell you."

Frustration flares hot in my chest. "How am I supposed to fulfill something if I don't even know what I'm meant to do?"

"You will figure it out."

I exhale sharply, resisting the urge to shove him. "That is not an answer."

"It is the only one you will receive."

My jaw tightens. "You enjoy this, don't you?"

A smirk tugs at his lips. "Immensely."

I curse under my breath and look away, my gaze sweeping over the strange horizon. My chest feels tight, frustration curling beneath my ribs.

I don't belong here.

I think of home.

Of what I left behind.

The palace, with its high marble columns and endless corridors that always felt too empty, too hollow. The whispers of courtiers, the weight of expectation pressing down on my shoulders, the knowledge that my life was never my own.

I hated it.

I hated the gilded cage, the way my father's voice cut sharper than a blade, the way my mother's quiet disappointment settled like stones in my stomach.

But I also think of—

Warm honey cakes in the kitchens, stolen when the servants weren't looking. The way the rain sounded against the glass of my chamber windows on stormy nights. The scent of old parchment in the library, the one place I was truly left alone.

The things I miss.

The things I might never see again.

A sharp, familiar anger coils in my stomach.

Cassian.

His face flashes in my mind, as it always does when I think of my old life. The sharp cut of his golden features, the cold calculation in his eyes, the way his lips curled slightly that morning, as if he knew something I didn't.

Did he?

Did he know this was going to happen?

My heart hammers as I turn to Malphas. "This contract—" I pause, my voice careful now. "Is it mine, or is it someone elses?"

Malphas studies me. "That is an odd question."

I swallow. My fingers tremble slightly as I clasp them in front of me. "Then answer it."

His head tilts, dark hair slipping over his shoulder like shifting ink. "Why do you ask?"

I hesitate.

Because I have my suspicions.

Because if anyone would orchestrate something like this, it would be him.

Cassian always played the long game. He was always too composed that morning. Too smug. As if he were already winning.

I clench my jaw and exhale slowly, steadying myself. If I dwell on this too much, I'll break apart. I focus instead on what's in front of me.

We pass a long bridge made of dark stone, arching over a body of water that should not exist.

It is not water.

It moves thickly, sluggish, shifting between colors, deep blues, and blacks, something that almost glows before disappearing again. The surface ripples, but there is no wind to stir it.

"That is the River of the Forgotten," Malphas says, following my gaze. "It holds the memories of those who have lost themselves in this realm."

I stare at the shifting surface, a shiver crawling up my spine. "Have you ever lost yourself in it?"

Malphas chuckles, low and amused. "No, little human. I do not lose myself."

His voice is rich with meaning, with something I cannot quite grasp.

I am still looking at the water when I feel something brush against my hand.

A fleeting touch.

Just the briefest press of his fingers against mine.

A mistake, maybe. An accident as we walk.

But I feel it all the same.

His skin is cold. Not unpleasantly so, but a contrast to my own warmth. I noticed it the other day at the luncheon when he had taken my hand.

I glance at him, but Malphas does not look at me. He continues walking, as though nothing happened, as though I imagined it.

I almost convince myself that I did.

We continue walking, the quiet stretch of the path winding toward a more open space. I take in my surroundings, still adjusting to the unnatural way this world presents itself. The sky never shifts, never moves, never brightens or darkens with time. There is no breeze, no distant call of birds, no insects humming in the brush. Just silence, vast and watchful.

Then, up ahead, the terrain changes. A dense tree line rises beyond the path, dark and gnarled, the branches twisted as though shaped by unseen hands. The leaves are unlike those I know, their edges jagged, their veins pulsing faintly. A thin mist curls at the base of the trunks, coiling around the roots like fingers gripping the earth.

Malphas does not slow, does not even glance at the forest. Instead, he keeps to the open road, his movements as effortless as ever.

I cast him a look before turning my gaze back to the trees. "Where does that path lead?"

"You do not need to know."

His response is immediate, firm.

I narrow my eyes at him. "Why not?"

"Because you will never use that path."

Something in the way he says it makes my spine stiffen. "Is that a warning or a rule?"

He stops then, turning his head slightly toward me, though his expression remains unreadable. "Both."

I open my mouth, ready to argue, but something in his gaze stops me. It is not amusement this time, not the indulgent patience he so often wields like a blade. This is different.

"I do not give orders lightly, Edrea," he says, his voice quieter now. "You will never step foot in that forest."

The certainty in his tone unsettles me.

I glance back toward the trees, their trunks stretching impossibly high, the mist shifting in the spaces between them. The path that disappears into the darkness is barely visible, but it is there. And something about it, something about the way it lingers just at the edge of sight, makes my skin crawl.

I swallow down the questions rising in my throat.

For once, I do not argue.

We continue forward, leaving the forest behind, but the weight of his words settles heavy in my chest.

***

I do not go near the forest. Not yet.

But I do not stop searching for a way out, either.

Malphas has made it clear that I am bound by this contract, that my escape is impossible until I fulfil some kind of bargain. Yet I know better than to accept a cage without testing its bars. There is always a weakness, always a way through. Even if I have to carve my own path.

For now, I settle for small rebellions.

I walk further than I did the day before, paying attention to how the land changes, how the roads wind and stretch toward places I am never meant to go. I stop by the River of the Forgotten, lingering longer than I should, watching the way the water shifts and bends, swallowing light only to let it surface again in flashes of distant memory.

I ask questions that no one wants to answer.

Nevira is my first target. She is more perceptive than she lets on, but she is still a servant, and servants always know more than their masters assume.

I find her in the grand halls of the castle, overseeing a group of lesser demons as they set an extravagant feast in one of the many banquet rooms. I do not recognize half the foods they prepare, the colors too rich, the scents unfamiliar but enticing.

"Are we expecting guests?" I ask, keeping my tone light.

Nevira glances at me before giving a sharp nod to one of the demons, who bows and scurries off to tend to something else. "Not guests. Not yet."

"Then who is this for?"

She wipes her hands on a dark cloth, her gold eyes flicking toward me with careful consideration. "The master's court dines here often."

"And do I?"

Her expression remains unreadable. "If you wish."

It is an indirect answer, one that tells me little but hints at something else. I am not expected to dine here. Not unless I push for it.

I step closer, trailing my fingers along the polished edge of the long dining table. "You said before that you were to serve me while I remain here."

"That is correct."

"So tell me," I say, turning to face her fully. "How long is that, exactly? How long will I be here?"

She does not answer immediately. Her fingers tighten around the cloth in her hands, the only sign that my question unsettles her.

"As long as the contract demands," she finally says.

It is the answer I expected, but it does not satisfy me.

"And what does it demand?"

She hesitates, something flickering behind her gaze.

I step closer. "You know, don't you?"

"I know only what the master has permitted me to know," she replies, careful now.

I exhale, irritation bubbling beneath my skin. "Malphas said I must fulfill the contract before I can leave, yet no one seems eager to tell me how I'm supposed to do that. You call me his guest, but I am not free to leave. You claim this is not a prison, but I see no unlocked gates."

Her gaze sharpens, but there is no malice there. Only measured patience.

"You assume the answer is something you can be given," she says. "But that is not how this realm works. The master does not deal in simple truths."

I grit my teeth, willing my frustration to stay contained. "And what do you deal in, Nevira?"

She studies me, her expression unreadable. "I deal in service. Nothing more, nothing less."

I let the silence stretch between us, waiting for her to say something else. But she does not.

Pressing her further now will do nothing.

So I turn away and leave the banquet hall, knowing I will have to find another way to pry open the secrets they keep from me.

I spend the rest of the afternoon wandering the castle, memorizing its halls, learning where each corridor twists and leads, where the doors open and where they remain sealed.

I speak with the others, those who serve in the shadows, the ones who bow their heads when Malphas enters a room but never quite meet my eyes. Most of them do not speak at all, their forms shifting, flickering, more shadow than flesh.

But some of them do.

A lesser demon, hunched and thin with skin the color of burnt ember, mutters about how the seasons here do not change. How time does not pass the way it does in my world.

A woman with translucent skin, her features blurred as though she exists halfway between this realm and another, tells me that the castle has stood for an age so long no one remembers its beginning.

None of it helps me.

Not yet.

But it is something.

I am searching, I am listening, and I know that eventually, I will find the answer I need.

Until then, I will keep testing the limits of my cage.