The silence between them wasn’t empty.

It was the silence of two beasts who had fought each other to exhaustion, but neither was ready to fall—or forgive.

Leonard walked with his blade slung over his shoulder, boots crunching against shifting earth that couldn’t decide if it was stone or flesh. Beside him, her shadow stalked his steps, never quite touching, but never drifting too far.

They didn’t speak.

They didn’t have to.

The book writhed against his chest, occasionally flipping to a page without his permission—each time showing fragments of her past, or maybe his twisted into hers. It was impossible to tell where his story ended and hers began.

She hummed softly, the melody crawling under his skin like a familiar itch he couldn’t scratch. It was the kind of song someone hums when they’re cleaning a blade that’s already wet.

“Can you not?” Leonard muttered, not slowing his pace.

She smiled, floating lazily beside him, upside down because gravity was her suggestion, not her law. “What, no love for my voice? You used to enjoy the sound of a woman humming in the dark.”

Leonard’s jaw clenched. “Careful.”

“Oh, I’m always careful.” Her fingers trailed across his shoulder, cold even through the fabric. “It’s you who’s reckless. You dragged me into that pretty little book of yours.”

“You forced yourself in.”

“You opened the door.”

They both stopped. Neither wanted to admit who was right.

The path ahead twisted into a bridge of bones, suspended over a sea of teeth, each wave chewing into itself. Leonard stared for a moment, then walked forward without hesitation.

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She floated beside him, her form part woman, part smoke, always shifting at the edges like she couldn’t quite decide which version of herself she wanted him to see.

“Why didn’t you burn me?” she asked softly. “You could have finished it. Closed the book. Sealed my page.”

Leonard didn’t answer immediately.

Because he didn’t know.

Because deep down, part of him knew what it felt like to be left behind.

Instead, he deflected. “Why didn’t you devour me when I was broken?”

Her smile flickered into something almost sad. “Because you’re the first thing in centuries that doesn’t taste like disappointment.”

They crossed the bone bridge in silence, both pretending the conversation hadn’t happened.

Ahead, the next trial awaited—a kitchen unlike any other. This one was suspended in the sky, hanging by chains made of spines fused together, swinging over a void that whispered names neither of them wanted to remember.

Leonard climbed the first chain, hands bleeding instantly as the jagged bone tore into his palms. She floated beside him, weightless.

“Want me to carry you, my beautiful butcher?” she teased.

“Touch me, and I’ll feed you to whatever’s down there.”

“Promise?”

He gritted his teeth, climbing higher. Her laughter followed him like a smoke trail.

When they reached the platform, the kitchen was already alive. Knives hovered in mid-air, ingredients crawled across the countertops, and the fire pits were filled with screaming faces instead of flames.

Leonard exhaled slowly.

“You cook.” She grinned wide. “And I’ll watch.”

He glanced at her, brow raised. “You’re not going to sabotage me?”

She floated closer, her shadowy lips brushing his ear. “Why would I ruin the only entertainment I have left?”

They stood side by side, barely tolerating each other’s presence—but somehow, neither moved away.

The first ingredient dropped onto the cutting board—a beating heart, carved with both their names.

Leonard picked up the knife.

She smiled over his shoulder.

The feast continued.