Page 186 of Just One Little Bargain

“How did you know where I was?”

“We received a summons the moment Hell processed your return.” She doesn’t slow down. Her footsteps echo against the stone. “We were informed of your failure and instructed to appear for the hearing.”

“Is Father livid?”

“Yes.”

I expect her to elaborate. She doesn’t.

We turn left down another corridor. The deeper we go, the quieter it becomes, the noise fading behind us until there’s only the steady click of her heels and the low hiss of torchlight against stone. Usually, this is the point where I start building an explanation in my head, picking through every mistake for the version that sounds least disappointing.

This time, I can’t bring myself to bother.

“I wish I had some grand excuse for what happened, but I don’t.”

She turns slightly toward me. “Then what do you have?”

“The truth. I’m not cut out for soul collecting. Or, if I’m bluntly honest, for Hell.”

My mother stops. We’re standing in the middle of an empty corridor, torchlight casting uneven shadows across her face.

“I know,” she says finally.

“What?”

“You think I haven’t noticed?” She adjusts one sleeve. “You’ve been miserable here your entire life. Most of your time is spent avoiding other demons, hiding in archives, and dressing like a mortal even when it makes you a target. Fitting in has never come naturally to you, Zavian. I’ve always known that.”

There’s no accusation in her voice, which makes it harder.

“I don’t want this.”

Her brows lift. “This?”

“Any of it.” I gesture vaguely. “Collecting souls. Father’s work. Spending eternity trying to become the sort of demon everyone keeps insisting I ought to be. I’m tired of it.”

“I’m sure you are.” Mother’s expression softens by a fraction before she starts walking again. “But it doesn’t change what’s about to happen. The Tribunal will want an explanation for the failed contract.”

“I have one.”

Mother waits for me to continue, but I let the silence stretch between us. My footsteps fall half a beat out of rhythm with hers.

“And?” she asks, eventually.

I drag a hand over the back of my neck. There’s no version of this that sounds better out loud. “I couldn’t get her to bargain with me.”

“You couldn’t?”

“No.”

She exhales through her nose. “The Tribunal won’t accept that. You had a month, Zavian. And you’re telling me she simply refused to make a deal, and you did nothing about it?”

“I tried.”

“It’s still not much of an argument.”

“Why would I need one?” I slow beside her. “The terms were clear. I failed the contract, Hell recalled me, and the punishment was the Furnace. I thought this hearing was ceremonial at best.”

Mother studies me for a moment. “You always have the right to appeal.”