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I was no longer an angel, no longer a demon, and no longer even truly fallen. I was a vessel of nothingness, a walking contradiction that the universe was trying to correct.

And the universe was closing in.

I could feel them—the tribunal watchers. They were not close, not yet, but their gazes lay heavy on the back of my neck. They were tracking the anomaly, hunting the fracture I had become. Malakar had given me a head start, a cruel mercy designed to make the hunt more sporting, but that grace period was bleeding.

They would come. They would bring their blades of white fire, and they would drag me back to the tribunal to be unmade.

I pushed the great doors open, and they groaned, a sound of rust and resentment. The entrance hall was dark; the torches were unlit. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of gray light that fell from the tall windows.

“Welcome home, Mistress.”

Aldric stood at the foot of the stairs. He looked unchanged, his posture rigid and his gloves pristine, as if he had been standing there waiting for fifty years. He was bound to this place by choice and duty, but looking at him now, through eyes that had seen the void, I saw weariness etched into his spectral form.

I stopped walking and did not take off my coat. I did not offer a smile. I had none left to give. “There is no home here, Aldric,” I said, my flat voice sounding strange to my own ears. “Only stones and memories.”

He inclined his head, a gesture of deference that felt like mockery. “The fire in the library is lit. Leta has…prepared—”

“No.” The word was soft and absolute. “Put the fire out, Aldric.”

He paused, his expression unreadable. “Mistress?”

“I am setting you free.” I walked toward him, my steps heavy. “The contract is broken. The house is dead. You are released from your service, old friend. Go back to the rest you denied yourself for my sake.”

Aldric did not move for a long moment. He looked at me, really looked at me. His eyes seemed to pierce the glamour of endurance I wore like a shroud. He must see the hollowness. The end written in the set of my jaw.

“And where will you go?” he asked quietly.

“Nowhere you can follow. Nowhere anyone can follow.”

He hesitated, and a flicker of emotion crossed his stoic features. Perhaps grief or resignation. He then bowed lower than he ever had before. “It has been…a pleasure, Cassia.”

After he straightened, his form wavered for the first time, turning translucent at the edges.

“Go,” I whispered.

He faded—simply ceased to be, dissolving into the shadows of the hall he had tended to for so long. But the hall was not empty. The silence that followed was not heavy. Instead, it was vibrating with frantic, choked energy.

I turned my head toward the alcove near the kitchen passage. “Step out, Leta,” I said, my voice hollow. “I know you’re there.”

The small sprite launched herself from the shadows, her apron violently twisted in her hands. Her face was a blotchy map of fury and devastation. “You can’t!” she shrieked, the sound echoing shrilly. “You can’t just dismiss him! You can’t just dismiss me! The silver isn’t wrapped! The linens are still on the beds! Who is going to cover the furniture? Who is going to feed the fires?”

She was shaking, her small body vibrating. Tears streamed freely down her face, but she didn’t wipe them. She just glared at me with fierce, wounded loyalty.

“The fires are going out, Leta,” I said, my voice dull against her heat. “The house is dead. There is nothing left to polish.”

“I belong here!” She stomped her foot like a child refusing to accept a death in the family. “I have served these stones since the mortar was wet! You cannot just…send me away like a stray cat!”

But I needed her gone.

I stepped closer to her. “Your contract is broken,” I said, making my voice hard. Stripping it of any softness she might cling to. “I am releasing you. Do you hear me? I am severing the bond. You are free.”

“I don’t want to be free!” Her fingers dug into my coat. “I want to stay! I want to serve! I—”

“There is no one left to serve!” I snapped, pulling my coat from her grip. “Go back to the woods, Leta. Go back to the court! Find a new hearth that isn’t cold ash. But you will not stay here.”

She stared at me, her chest heaving and her mouth opening and closing as she seemed to search for an argument. For a weapon to fight my resolve. But she found none.

She let out a sob that sounded like something tearing. Then, with a scream of pure frustration, she spun around. “Fine!” she yelled, her voice cracking, and disappeared into the long corridor of the servants’ quarters.