Suddenly, the air dimmed like dusk falling all at once.

The vibrant colors of the greenhouse wilted into shadow. The warmth slipped away. A chill crept over the glass walls as black mist slithered across the marble floor, curling around their feet like curious serpents.

Miles floated instinctively closer to Cinder. “Uhhh… is this bad?”

Before she could answer, the mist thickened—then parted as a tall, cloaked figure emerged from the gloom.

The Grimm Reaper.

His ornate black robe swayed behind him, silver trim catching what little light remained. The red rubies in his skull mask glinted like firelight in a grave. He towered over them, his presence heavy and ancient, the weight of centuries stitched into every slow step.

Cinder stiffened. “Hi, Daddy.”

He let out a long, weathered sigh, rubbing the bridge of his mask with two gloved fingers.

“Cinder... I asked you to stay in the room.”

Cinder shifted guiltily. “I was, but... Miles asked about my garden. I thought it’d be okay.”

The Reaper paused, head tilting slightly toward Miles.

“You were curious... about her garden?” His voice, low and rasped with age, held a note of surprise—genuine, not accusatory.

Miles shrugged midair. “She mentioned skull roses. Sounded metal. And... she seemed excited.”

The Reaper said nothing for a long moment.

Then, with an almost imperceptible nod, he reached into his robe and withdrew a thick, black-leather book, bound with silver thorns. It hovered toward Cinder like a ghostly offering.

“Study this,” he said. “It’s on soul links. My personal notes.”

Cinder took the book carefully, blinking up at him. “Soul links?”

He turned slightly, the mist beginning to recede as the warmth returned to the room.

“They’re rare. Usually, a soul in Limbo can be tethered temporarily to a Reaper. The connection is fragile—limited. Three uses, at most, before the bond breaks or fades.”

Miles scratched his cheek. “Three? Like genie wishes?”

The Reaper ignored him.

“But Miles is different,” he continued, staring into the garden as if lost in memory. “He wasn’t assigned. He attached. More than that... he resonates with you.”

Cinder looked at Miles, then back at her father. “But why?”

“That,” the Reaper said, already beginning to fade back into the mist, “is what I intend to find out. For now… read. Understand what he is. What you are in this.”

And just like that, he was gone. The shadows lifted. The garden brightened once more.

Cinder held the book tight to her chest.

Miles floated in thoughtful silence for a moment, then glanced sideways at her.

“So... soul link, huh?”

She nodded slowly.

“Guess that makes you my Grimternet provider.”

Cinder laughed, just a little.

“Let’s go study,” she said softly. “Together.”

They walked in silence for a while—well, as much silence as could exist between Miles and his constant half-whispered commentary about “cool statues” and “ghost chandeliers.”

The grand hallway stretched out ahead like an endless stone throat, lit by flickering purple sconces and the occasional shimmer of ghostlight drifting through the cracks. At the end was the library—a cathedral-sized vault of black marble and spiraling book towers that reached far beyond the roof.

Just as they reached the towering archway, Cinder stumbled over nothing.

“Whoa—!” she yelped, nearly face-planting into the velvet carpet.

Miles blinked. “You okay?”

She straightened, brushing her skirt down with as much dignity as she could gather. “Fine! Just—walked into a ghost breeze or something.”

Behind them, Willow’s voice rang out in a teasing drawl. “Nah, she’s always like this.”

Cinder huffed. “Am not.”

“Are too. You tripped on a flat floor at least six times during combat training.”

“It was unevenly cursed!” Cinder fired back, cheeks puffed.

Miles grinned, floating lazily ahead. “Honestly? It’s kinda cute.”

Cinder’s ears twitched. “Wh—what?”

He shrugged. “The tripping. Makes you more real. Adorably real.”

She looked away, tugging nervously at one of her white pigtails. Her cheeks were pink again. “You’re weird.”

“You invited me to a death castle, garden full of skull roses, and vampire book club,” Miles said. “I’m allowed to be.”

They reached the center of the library—hollow silence all around, broken only by the soft rustle of turning pages. Endless ladders moved of their own accord between rows. Magic was thick here.

Cinder led them toward the Soul Link archives—but stopped short.

The book they needed… wasn’t there.

“Oh no…” she groaned.

Two figures were seated just behind them in plush armchairs, flipping through the black, thorned tome.

They turned in unison—two vampires, pale and regal even in repose. One had obsidian curls and a spidery veil over her sharp crimson eyes. The other…

“Hi Leona,” Cinder said with a sigh.

Leona looked up from the book. Her hair was spun gold, styled into flawless ringlets tied with pink bows. She wore a pink gothic lolita dress with ribbons, white lace, and a candy-heart brooch that read Mords-moi in cursive. Her blue eyes sparkled with polite condescension.

“Oh,” she said, voice as sweet as sugar and just as sharp. “Cinderella’s back.”

Miles leaned in to whisper, “That’s not her real name, right?”

Cinder didn’t answer. She just forced a very polite smile and tried not to sigh again.

Leona closed the book delicately, her lace-gloved fingers curling over the cover like it might bruise. She rose from her velvet armchair with all the grace of a royal ghost, skirts swishing and bows bouncing.

“My, my,” she cooed. “So the rumors were true. A soul link… with a mortal. I simply had to see it with my own eyes.”

From the second chair, her twin sister stood more slowly. Identical in face but not in presence—Leonis was quiet, solemn. Her lolita dress was the same design as Leona’s but deep plum and obsidian, her hair cascading in violet-black ringlets. Red eyes fixed unblinking on Miles, sharp as razors. She didn’t speak. She didn’t blink.

Miles instinctively drifted back a few inches. “Okay. Not to sound judgmental, but I think that one wants to eat me.”

Leona tittered, the sound like a teacup clinking on porcelain. “Leonis doesn’t eat mortals. She prefers them rare and emotionally shattered.”

Leonis blinked once.

“I feel so reassured,” Miles said, deadpan.

Cinder stepped slightly in front of him. “We’re just here for the book. Dad wanted me to study it.”

Leona tilted her head, still smiling. “Of course, darling. But do forgive me if I’m fascinated. You’ve brought a mortal into the Underworld. A living one. I can’t be the only one curious.”

“You’re definitely not,” Miles muttered, eyeing Leonis again. She hadn’t moved. Still staring.

Leona leaned closer toward him, her blue eyes sparkling. “May I poke you?”

“Nope.”

“Just a gentle poke. For science.”

“Hard pass.”

“Oh, but you're such an adorable size. Like a little pocket ghost.”

“I am not travel-sized for your convenience!”

Leona laughed again, delicately hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Oh, you’re funny. Cinder, where did you find this one?”

“Um,” Cinder said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “He sort of… died. By accident. And then we soul-linked. Also by accident.”

Leona beamed. “Accidental romance. How delightfully tragic.”

Leonis finally spoke, voice low and monotone like a falling fog. “He’s not like the others.”

That froze Miles for a second. He met her crimson stare.

“…What others?”

But Leonis said nothing more.

Cinder glanced between the twins, visibly tense. “Can we just borrow the book now, please?”

Leona handed it over with a gracious nod. “Of course. But do come by for tea soon, darling. I’d love to hear how this little soul-link saga progresses.”

As they turned to leave, Miles cast one last look over his shoulder.

Leonis hadn’t moved.

Still watching.

Still studying.

And for the first time, Miles had the distinct feeling that whatever she was looking for in him—she might have found a piece of it.