The Seraph didn’t vanish; it simply ceased to be a threat. Its six wings dimmed, and the hundreds of eyes in its feathers closed one by one as it switched from "execution" to "observation." It stood there like a deactivated golden statue, silently recording the ripples of the paradox we had just birthed.

  Hades gripped my shoulder, his hand cold even through my jacket. "We need to move, Mediator. Now."

  "I thought you were the King here," I said, my voice rasping from the gold blood in my throat.

  "I am the King of the Grave, Zany, but I don't sit on the bench," Hades hissed, gncing at the unraveling golden script on the walls. "Yama is the Judge, and he is obsessed with the 'Accountability' of every soul. He’s currently away on a circuit in the God World, but the second he sees this Manual Override on his dashboard, he’s going to hunt me down."

  Hades looked at the ceiling as if he could already hear someone shouting. "I can hear it now. He'll nag me for the next three eons. 'I leave the office for five minutes to check the Dharma, and you decide to py hero? Do you have any idea what this does to my spreadsheets?' I’d rather fight another Seraph than sit through one of his lectures. Fold the distance. Anywhere but here."

  I closed my eyes. My mind felt like a frayed wire, sparking with the power I’d stolen from the Script. I didn't want a boardroom. I didn't want a throne. I wanted heat. I wanted noise. I wanted the sun to burn away the grey film of the Hollows.

  "Naples," I whispered.

  "What?"

  "I’ve always wanted to try the pizza there," I said. I reached into the air and pulled.

  The transition from the freezing, metallic air of the Underworld to the sweltering, flour-dusted heat of Italy was like being spped in the face with a warm towel. One second, we were standing in a tomb of screaming geometry; the next, we were leaning against a sun-bleached stone wall in a narrow alleyway.

  The smells hit me in a chaotic wave: acrid exhaust, blooming jasmine, and toasted yeast. I reached for the memory of the "smell of rain" to anchor myself, but there was only that hollow, white void where the sensation used to be.

  "This pce is... loud," Hades grumbled.

  He looked ridiculous. He had ditched his ancient robes for a charcoal-grey suit that looked fifty years out of style, but his eyes were still two pits of tired, ancient shadow. He was staring at a Vespa zooming past with the intensity of a man watching a demonic chariot.

  "It’s called 'Life,' Hades," I said, pushing off the wall. My legs felt heavy—denser, as if my very atoms had packed tighter after the fight. "You should try it. It’s got better lighting than your basement."

  "I have a Kingdom to run, Zany. I should be filing the paperwork for your 'error' of an existence before Yama gets back and starts a tribunal."

  "The paperwork can wait," I said, pointing toward a small pizzeria where checkered tablecloths spilled onto the cobblestones. "I owe you. And in my world, you don't stiff the guy who helped you hack the universe."

  We sat. The waiter, a young guy with a quick smile, froze the moment he stepped within ten feet of our table. He looked at Hades, then at me, his hands beginning to tremor. He didn't know why, but sitting near us was like standing at the edge of a massive cliff in a high wind.

  "Two Margheritas," I said, my voice steady. "And the coldest water you have."

  The waiter nodded frantically and vanished.

  Hades picked up a stainless-steel fork, inspecting it as if it were a prehistoric artifact. "So. You saved the boy. He’s back in the cycle. A new name, a new mother, a life without the 'shakes.' You realize he won't know you? If you walk past him on the street, you’ll be a stranger."

  "I know," I said, watching a group of tourists ugh nearby. "That was the point. He gets to be a person. I get to be... whatever this is."

  The pizzas arrived, steaming and charred perfectly. I picked up a slice—that beautiful, thin triangle of bread—the melted mozzarel stretching in a long rope. I didn't have a soul, and I didn't have a shadow, but the pizza tasted like a victory.

  "You're stronger than you were an hour ago," Hades noted, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "When you tore that script, you didn't just break the Law. You consumed a piece of it. You’re starting to fill out that 'Sovereign' skin."

  "Is that a good thing?"

  "For you? Maybe. For the rest of us?" Hades looked up at the bright blue sky. "It means the next time a God comes to collect your soul, they aren't going to send a bookkeeping angel. They’re going to send a Hunter."

  I took a bite of the triangle bread, the heat of the sauce finally making me feel real again.

  "Let them come," I said. "I'm still hungry."

  Hades looked at his pte, then at me. He sighed, picked up a slice with practiced, royal dignity, and took a bite. His eyes widened, just a fraction.

  "...Perhaps," the King of the Dead muttered, "I have been staying in the dark for far too long."