Page 99 of Where Light Cannot Follow

"He always wins, Dante. Always." The anger has left his voice, replaced by something worse: desperation. "Do you understand what you've done? Do you think we escape hell at the end of this?"

"No. I think we return to it together."

He stares at me for one of those endless moments. But here in the real world—where clocks tick steadily, and the sun climbs higher, painting the walls in gold, and his breathing fills the space between us with warmth and need—the moment stretches differently. More weighted. More real.

"Your plan is to end up in hell again?"

"It is."

"That is a terrible plan."

He says it so flatly that I can't help but laugh.

"I'm not attempting humor," he states.

"I know. But I did consider other factors. For one, your name carries power in that realm. Perhaps I can build recognition for mine as well, and we can return better fortified. And I believe things are shifting there. I've secured your release from any debt to Satan and ensured he holds no specific claim on my soul either. I agreed only to attend a certain number of advisory sessions over the centuries, nothing more. Perhaps in time we'll be able to⁠—"

"You sold your soul on a gamble?" Virgil looks genuinely aghast. If his disapproval weren't directed at me, humming against my skin, it might almost be endearing. "You made a deal based on speculation? Dante, you are the most logical, methodical, risk-averse man I have ever encountered, yet you chose to wager everything—you chose to throw away your eternal fate—you chose⁠—"

I step forward so quickly it surprises even me.

And I kiss him.

I have no idea if this is right. If he'll be pleased or horrified. If my instinct has betrayed me entirely.

His lips are soft. Sweet. He's definitely eaten a pastry—he tastes of butter and honey and quiet Christmas mornings. His mouth softens after a moment, yielding, allowing me to kiss him more fully. I lift a hand and graze my fingers through the softness of his curls, down the smooth skin of his jaw, until they come to rest against his neck, feeling his pulse flutter beneath my palm.

He's so here. So physically present. So solid and warm and alive.

"I chose you," I breathe as I pull away.

Virgil stares up at me. His eyelashes have tears caught in them. They're impossibly long.

"I chose you," I repeat. "I wasn't walking into that light if you couldn't follow. No paradise that won't accept you is acceptable to me. I sat on that cliff after you left, trying to understand what I should do. And then I realized what it was. It was as clear as the light itself.”

"What?" he asks. Virgil lifts his hands to rest against mine, where they curl gently at his neck. His heartbeat flutters like a hummingbird's wings beneath my fingers. He touches me so carefully, as though contact is almost too much to bear.

"That I would join you. Join you in helping lost souls find their way. What you do is beautiful, Virgil. It's salvation. It's hope offered to the hopeless. You believe you squandered your soul, but you're wrong. You have spent it more beautifully than anyone I've ever known." I hold his gaze. "And I'm going to stand beside you."

"You wish to... to join me?"

I brush a tear from his cheek with my thumb. "Yes. And I knew I'd be safest in that realm if I became like you—a guide, a demon, yes, but unable to be preyed upon. That way, you wouldn’t have to worry about me being harmed. And if I were making that bargain, I was going to give us this first. A life. A full life, with very specific terms—no illness, no death sooner than forty years hence, protections I made him enumerate and repeat back to me. A life where we can build a million beautiful memories together."

Virgil seems lost for words. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely a whisper. "We will not be able to touch each other in hell, Dante."

"That's not true." I lean closer. "I felt you every moment I was there.”

Virgil stares at me. His lips part, but no words come. For a man built on language, the silence says everything.

I let it sit between us. Let him feel the weight of it.

For two thousand years, this man has walked alone through hell, untouchable and untouched. And here I am, telling him never again. He will never walk that loop by himself again.

“You don't have to do this alone anymore,” I whisper. “I’ll be with you."

"In hell?"

"In hell."