Page 112 of The Devil's Canvas

Caleb reappears holding duct tape like it’s a threat. “Who needs labels when you have fear?”

“We’ll stack them by category,” Damian says, already moving. “Books. Paintings. Weirdly aggressive tea accessories.”

“And teleport each stack one at a time,” Lucas adds. “Safer. Less chaos. Less chance of turning the Van Gogh of the underworld into a pile of abstract firewood.”

I nod, still beside the self-portrait. “She’d hate that. We do it right.”

“Also,” Seth says, hefting a heavy box, “remind me to apologize when she realizes we’ve read her journal entries about ‘severing the mortal coil through bad spaghetti.’”

“She’s definitely cursing Carol,” Caleb mutters.

“And the pasta.”

We start stacking again—but it’s not the same kind of silence as before. This one hums with meaning. It’s filled with effort, with care. The occasional grunt of lifting, the low thrum of teleportation runes—little sounds that say,we’re bringing her home.

This isn’t just about moving her things. It’s about carrying the pieces of her she lost—and making sure she gets every single one back.

Once everything is in place, we start sorting out who’s taking what. I claim the paintings. There’s a spare room in my house—empty, quiet and untouched. I could make it into something just for her. Maybe we’ll finish it before she comes back.

It feels like a small promise.

Soft embers catch in the air—not a flame, not fire, but the familiar hiss of infernal magic slipping between realms.

A contract. My spine locks. I know that sound. I know what it means.

Someone’s deal has come due.

But it can’t be mine. I don’t have any open contracts. Not anymore. And the only one I’ve been tracking closely is Cassius Arden’s—but his isn’t ready. Not yet.

I don’t move. Not until the parchment folds out of nothing and drops directly into my hands.

The parchment is ice against my skin. The room stills as I look down.

Payment Due.

My heart doesn’t just stop—it drops out of rhythm entirely. This isn’t possible. It shouldn’t exist.

This should’ve been voided. The second our bond was sealed, any previous claim should’ve unraveled. That’s law. That’s structure. That’s the one constant in all this chaos.

I swallow and hold out the contract. No one speaks right away. They just read. One by one.

Seth is the first to break the silence. “That can’t be real.”

“It’s not just real,” Caleb mutters, eyes narrowing, “it’s current. That flame mark means it’s already in motion.”

“But it shouldn’t exist,” Lucas says, sharper now. “You’re bonded. That’s a full override. Nothing’s supposed to touch her now—not legally, not magically.”

“There must be a mistake,” Adrian says. “Or a manipulation. Something someone slipped past the system.”

Damian folds his arms. “Unless this wasn’t a normal deal. Or it was set so deep that even the bond didn’t kill it.”

“No,” I say quietly. “Even Echo Cases dissolve once a soul is claimed. That’s the whole point.”

“But it didn’t,” Seth says, looking at me. “So what does that mean?”

It means I’m done standing here.

“I’m going to her,” I say, already pulling my magic into my hands. “Now.”

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