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"I can't lose any of you," I admitted, the words scraping my throat raw. "Not after finally finding you all. Not after centuries of emptiness."

Callum's expression softened, the hardness in his eyes giving way to something more vulnerable. He reached out, his hand warm on my shoulder, fingers squeezing slightly. "I know. I feel the same way."

We stood in silence for a moment, the weight of our situation hanging between us like an invisible thread binding us together.

"Did you ever think we'd end up here?" I asked finally, a wry smile tugging at my lips. "You and me, actually talking instead of trying to kill each other? There was a time I'd have gladly ripped your throat out."

Callum laughed softly, the sound rich and unexpected in the somber hallway. "Never. But I'm glad we are. And for the record, I'd have done the throat-ripping first."

"Me too." The admission came easier than I expected, centuries of rivalry giving way to something far more precious. "Though I still think you're insufferable."

We resumed walking, our steps echoing in the empty corridor, the sound oddly comforting.

"Sierra's worried about him," I said. "Archer. She sees more than she lets on."

"We all are. He's isolating himself, carrying this burden alone. Classic Archer move, thinking he's protecting everyone by suffering in silence."

"That's Archer. Always taking the weight of the world on his shoulders." I shook my head, memories of countless similar situations washing over me. "He's been that way since he was a kid. Too stubborn for his own good."

"Tell me about that," Callum said, genuine curiosity in his voice. "How did you two meet? Wasn't he promised to your family to serve the throne as payment for a deal with his father?"

I grimaced, hating the facts behind how Archer actually came to me. The memory still left a bitter taste after all these years. "His father was a real piece of work. A lower demon who made a bargain with one of my uncles to trap his mother and force her to bond with him and bare his children. In exchange, their first born would be forced into the service of the throne. Once I learned of the bargain, I killed his father, freed his mother and allowed him to work in exchange for protection.”

Archer came to me when he was fourteen. A bitter and mouthy teen. It had taken four of my best guards to get him into Hell.

But there was something about him. His loyalty, his fire, the defiance in those ice-blue eyes even as he knelt bleeding before my throne. I offered him a place in my court instead of killing him. I shrugged, uncomfortable with the memory. "Best decision I ever made."

Callum nodded, something like understanding in his gaze. "He's extraordinary. His angelic heritage... it's beautiful. The way he moves sometimes. It's like watching light itself take form."

"It is," I agreed, remembering the rare occasions when Archer allowed that part of himself to shine. "Though he's always seen it as a burden. A mark of his mother's fall, his father's cruelty and trickery."

We reached the library doors, pausing before entering. The massive oak panels were carved with ancient symbols. Warnings and protections that had guarded my collection for millennia.

"What's our plan for the coming days?" Callum asked, his voice low, serious once more.

I rubbed a hand over my face, feeling the stubble that had grown since morning. "We need to prepare for the Shadow Beast's return. Train Sierra to use her powers more effectively. Research alternatives to the prophecy."

"And if we don't find any?"

I met his gaze steadily, letting him see the resolve in mine. "Then we fight anyway. Together. Neither of us kept our kingdoms alive by accepting defeat."

Callum held my stare for a long moment before nodding, something like respect flashing in those pale green depths. "Together."

As we pushed open the library doors, the sight that greeted us made my heart clench painfully. Archer sat surrounded by piles of books, ancient tomes stacked haphazardly on every surface. His normally immaculate appearance was disheveled, dark hair tangled as if he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his hands trembled slightly as he turned a page, the movement lacking his usual grace.

He looked up as we entered, his ice-blue eyes dulled with fatigue, missing their characteristic sharpness. "Found anything?" he asked immediately, not bothering with greetings.

"No," I answered, taking in the scattered notes, the open inkwell that had spilled onto parchment, the half-eaten food abandoned on a side table. "But we need to talk."

Archer shook his head, already looking back at his book. "There's no time. The Shadow Beast?—"

"Will still be there after you've rested," I interrupted, authority slipping into my tone without conscious thought. "You're no good to anyone like this, Archer. You can barely hold that book steady."

"I'm fine." The lie hung in the air between us, brittle and transparent.

Callum snorted. "You look like shit."

Archer glared at him, but there was no real heat behind it, just exhaustion. "Thanks for the assessment. Very helpful."