The first thing I became aware of in the morning was something soft colliding with my face.

Thump.​

I groaned into the pillow that had apparently decided to assassinate me in my sleep. For one blissful second, I really considered pretending to be dead. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest. My shoulders ached. My ribs ached. Even muscles I'd never known existed had apparently joined the rebellion. For one deeply unreasonable moment, I almost wished the purple river had finished the job.

Then the mattress dipped beneath another weight. Soft thighs settled either side of my waist, pinning me in place. My pulse skipped before my brain had even caught up with what was happening.

"Morning," came the super chipper voice of Lilith from above.

​"I figured that," her voice came as a whisper to my ear. "Or you just love my morning wake-ups."

"Is this going to be a normal recurrence?" I groaned as I pulled the pillow from my face to find Lilith's face just above mine, a subtle pink glow flashing through her eyes.

"Probably, unless you wake up before me." She smiled, holding my gaze with an intensity that made me wonder if she was waiting for something to happen. Whatever it was, I clearly wasn't cooperating. She sighed, the faint scent of strawberries drifting across the tiny space between us. "Still nothing?"

"I could say yes, but I don't know what you're trying to do," I said. Heat rushed into my face as I realised she was only wearing an oversized white shirt, barely half the buttons done up. Far more skin was visible than my sleep-deprived brain knew how to process, and the warmth of her bare thighs against my waist wasn't helping. 

I cleared my throat.

"Could you... maybe get off me?"

A smile returned to her face. She swung one leg over me with absolutely no concern for the effect it had on my rapidly overheating brain. I quickly found the ceiling fascinating. 

"Don't tell me you're falling for me," she said in a teasing voice. "If you cheat on Kian, I won't forgive you."

That shocked the last of the sleep from my mind and I bolted upright, realising that had been a mistake as pain surged up from every muscle protesting the sudden move, making me wince, but I didn't worry about the pain as I turned to Lilith. "What about Kian?"

Rivena, who leaned over and lacing her boots, shot back a look with a raised eyebrow. "You can't pretend nothing happened." She smiled. "Everyone saw him with you in the middle of the night."

I let out a groan as I dropped my head to my hands. "It's not what it looks like."

"So," Lilith asked, still smiling, "what exactly were you doing with my brother all hours of the night?" Her tone stayed light, but there was something in her eyes now—something searching—that hadn't been there a moment ago.

"Trying not to die," I muttered.

Images from the previous night flashed through my head. Kian calmly asking for the names of the Nine Kings. Me getting one wrong. The ground introducing itself to my back. Again. And again. Somewhere around the fifteenth time I'd stopped counting.

All I wanted was to wipe that smug, emotionless look off his face with one decent punch.

He never gave me the chance.

Tonight, I promised myself.

Tonight I'd hit him.

...Probably.

I grabbed the pillow Lilith had used to assault me, buried my face in it and screamed. The pillow absorbed most of it. Unfortunately, not enough.

When I lowered it again, three pairs of eyes were staring at me with varying degrees of concern.

"So, nothing happened?" Eryx looked up from his book, looking genuinely uncertain whether he should ask. 

I shook my head and muttered, "I'm pretty sure I was just being used as a punching bag."

"Well, no matter what actually happened, by the time you reach class you'll probably be labelled as Kian's secret lover."

I sputtered as I choked on a breath. "What?" I jumped out of bed, my legs nearly collapsing on me as I staggered towards Lilith. "How would that happen?"

Lilith shrugged. "Half the first years saw him carrying you into the dorms."

Heat flooded my face.

Rivena looked entirely too pleased with herself. "Don't worry, I'm sure they thought you probably tried to seduce him and got yourself knocked out for it."

"That's not any better," I muttered.

"Well, whatever," Rivena finished changing and turned towards the door. "You'd better hurry, or you'll be late for class, and unless you want to become a test subject, I'll caution you from being late."

"Great," I muttered.

I snatched a fresh uniform from the chest at the foot of my bed before limping towards the bathroom.

My second morning at Crowley Academy had started with Lilith trying to smother me, rumours that I was secretly dating Kian Paimon, and enough bruises to make sitting down a tactical decision.

Somehow, I had a feeling this was going to become my new normal.

* * *

Whatever relief I'd felt upon reading the words Human Physiology on my schedule evaporated the moment I stepped through the doorway.

The room resembled an anatomy theatre if an anatomy theatre had been built by someone who enjoyed causing pain. Rows of polished dark timber benches descended in great tiers towards a broad stone stage at the centre of the room. Every seat faced a single steel examination table positioned beneath an enormous lantern suspended from an intricate metal arm that reached out from the ceiling like the limb of some great mechanical beast. It cast an unnaturally bright light over the table below, leaving nowhere for shadows to hide.

My eyes were immediately drawn to it.

Thick leather restraints hung from each corner. Three broader straps dangled loosely from the side where a person's forehead, chest and legs would rest, swaying ever so slightly as though they had only recently been unfastened.

A chill crept down my spine.

Dark stone walls rose around the chamber, disappearing into shadow high above. Massive anatomical drawings covered almost every spare surface, each depicting the human body in painstaking detail. Muscles were peeled back layer by layer. Bones had been labelled with elegant precision. Delicate sketches of organs, accompanied by paragraphs of tightly written notes too distant for me to read.

Long black cupboards lined the rear wall, their glass doors revealing shelf upon shelf of preserved specimens. Hearts floated beside lungs. Rows of cloudy eyes stared blindly through pale liquid. Entire hands rested upright as though waiting for someone to shake them. One jar near the end contained nothing but a human head, its lifeless gaze fixed permanently upon the room, the liquid distorting its features just enough to make them seem almost alive.

Steel trolleys surrounded the examination table, each arranged with unnerving precision. Every knife, hook, saw and pair of forceps had been laid perfectly straight, ordered by size as though they belonged to a craftsman's prized collection rather than instruments meant to cut living flesh. There were dozens more implements whose purpose I couldn't begin to imagine.

I wasn't sure I wanted to.

My stomach tightened as I tore my eyes away and looked towards the students filing into the room.

None of them seemed disturbed. If anything, they looked excited.

They hurried down the steps with the same eager anticipation I'd expect from children attending a festival.

"I hope we actually get to see the organs today."

"We'd better. I still don't understand how they're arranged."

Someone behind me laughed.

"I wonder how long this one will scream."

"Longer than last week's, hopefully."

Fresh goosebumps prickled across my arms.

Beside me, Rivena gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

"I swear," she muttered, "this class is full of sadists."

A hush gradually settled over the theatre as everyone found their seats.

I followed Eryx and Rivena down towards the front before realising, far too late, exactly where we were sitting. Front and centre. Directly facing the examination table. Of course we were.

Heavy footsteps echoed through the theatre as a man in an immaculate white coat entered the room.

According to my schedule, this was Professor Malachi.

He looked far younger than I'd imagined. Ash-blond hair had been combed neatly back from a handsome face that belonged more to a nobleman's portrait than a place like this. A crisp black waistcoat sat beneath his spotless white coat, buttoned perfectly over an equally immaculate black shirt. Fine silver spectacles rested upon the bridge of his nose, softening sharp amber eyes that studied the room with quiet intelligence. One hand disappeared beneath a fitted black leather glove, while the other remained bare; its pale skin looked almost porcelain under the lights of the classroom.

He smiled pleasantly at the class. "Good morning. Without further ado, let's start the class."

He clasped his hands together before giving a single, measured clap.

The doors behind him opened and two figures entered, a man and a woman. I knew instantly they weren't demons.

A murmur of anticipation rippled through the theatre as if today's entertainment had finally arrived upon a stage.

I couldn't stop staring.

The pair were painfully thin, their skin stretched tightly across prominent ribs and narrow shoulders. Fresh bruises mingled with faded yellow ones. Old scars crossed newer scars in untidy patterns that covered almost every inch of exposed skin.

The man wore nothing but loose linen trousers. His chest looked like a map of old wounds. Some cuts had healed cleanly. Others had been stitched back together with thick black thread. The woman wore a faded white dress hanging from two fraying shoulder straps that looked ready to snap beneath their own weight. Her bare arms were covered in tiny circular burns. Iron collars rested loosely around both of their necks.

Neither looked at the class as they approached Professor Malachi with small, practised bows before quietly stepping aside to await instruction.

Professor Malachi folded his hands behind his back.

"It appears we have a new student joining us today."His gaze settled warmly upon me. "Miss Ashe Gaap."

Every eye in the theatre followed his.

"For today's lesson, I believe observation shall prove considerably more valuable than reading any textbook. Anatomy is best understood firsthand."

"I... understand, Professor."

"Excellent." His smile widened almost imperceptibly before he addressed the room once more. "Today we shall continue our examination of the male anatomy, with particular attention paid to the placement and protection of the major organs."

Before he had even finished speaking, the male human stepped forward. His legs shook beneath him. He reached the examination table before stopping. His eyes lifted towards Professor Malachi. For one fleeting moment, I thought he might refuse, then the skin above his heart flared crimson where a mark could be seen. The man's face twisted sharply in pain and whatever resistance had lingered inside him disappeared. Without another word, he climbed onto the steel table and lay flat upon his back.

I froze as my hand subconsciously found my own mark.

"Who would care to begin today's practical?" Professor Malachi asked.

Hands shot into the air as nearly half the theatre volunteered.

Professor Malachi surveyed them thoughtfully before nodding towards a girl with short chestnut hair seated near the front. "Miss Cora Bael."

She practically bounded out of her seat and down the steps.

Without waiting for instruction, she secured the man's wrists first, fastening each leather cuff before moving to his ankles. The broader restraints followed next, crossing his thighs, waist and forehead until scarcely any part of him remained free to move.

The great lantern overhead brightened and light flooded the examination table.

A moment later the air above it shimmered. Ripples spread through empty space before a perfect image slowly formed, suspended above the man's body. It showed his chest, just magnified many times over. Every shallow breath reflected in the image in perfect time with the real body. Professor Malachi rested two fingers lightly against the centre of the man's sternum. The image mirrored the movement exactly.

"So," he began, "last week we examined the muscular system."

A ripple of laughter swept through the theatre.

"I trust you've all learnt that humans are considerably less durable than demons."

This time the laughter was louder.

Professor Malachi allowed it to continue for only a heartbeat before raising his gloved hand.

Silence settled instantly.

"I have every confidence," he said pleasantly, "that today's class will demonstrate considerably greater restraint."

His gaze drifted towards the restrained man.

"I should very much like to keep this one alive until the end of the lesson."

The students chuckled, though a few sounded more nervous than amused.

"Today," Professor Malachi continued, crossing to a nearby trolley, "we shall investigate what lies beneath the ribcage."

His fingertips drifted thoughtfully over rows of polished instruments before settling upon a slender scalpel. He lifted it gently, turning the blade so it caught the bright light overhead before offering it, handle first, to the waiting student.

She accepted it with both hands as if receiving something precious.

"Please begin."

The girl nodded eagerly as she rested the blade against the centre of the man's chest.

His breathing became frantic as his eyes flew open. The restraints rattled violently as he threw his weight against them, leather creaking beneath the strain. Every muscle in his body tensed as though instinct alone begged him to flee.

The girl smiled as she pressed down. The blade slipped beneath pale skin.

A scream exploded through the theatre.

The sound tore straight through my chest.

The girl slowly drew the scalpel downwards, opening a thin crimson line across his chest while Professor Malachi watched with a small nod of the head.

I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek before lowering my eyes to my hands.

I couldn't watch.

The scream didn't stop. It echoed around the lecture hall, growing ragged as it bounced from the stone walls.

No one rushed to help him.

No one even looked disturbed.

Instead, they leaned forward in their seats, eyes fixed upon the floating image above the table with eager anticipation.

Professor Malachi folded his hands neatly behind his back.

"The human ribcage exists primarily to protect the heart and lungs from external injury," he explained in the same calm tone one might use to discuss a book they've read. "An admirable design. Unfortunately for the owner, if crushed, it will also damage those same organs."

Quills scratched rapidly across parchment as students jotted down notes.

"The challenge," he continued, "is understanding precisely how much damage may be inflicted before the subject becomes... academically unhelpful."

A ripple of soft laughter spread through the room.

"Now then."

A sharp crack echoed through the theatre.

I flinched.

Then came another.

And another.

Each one sounded wet somehow, followed almost immediately by another scream that clawed its way beneath my skin.

"Careful," Professor Malachi corrected mildly. "Less enthusiasm."

Another crack.

"If our subject expires before the conclusion of today's lesson, Miss Cora, you'll be joining me afterwards for remedial instruction."

"Sorry, Professor," the girl squeaked.

The cracking continued anyway.

Something slid across my desk.

I looked down to find Eryx had pushed a folded sheet of parchment towards me.

Are you alright?

My hands had begun trembling. I curled them into fists beneath the desk before giving the smallest nod I could manage without lifting my head.

He studied me for a moment before retrieving the parchment.

A few seconds later it returned.

Many first-years struggle with Human Physiology.

I swallowed and nodded again.

Unable to help myself, I glanced around the theatre. Most of the students watched with open fascination. Several even had big smiles on their faces. One boy leaned so far forward he looked ready to climb over the desk for a better view. Yet not everyone appeared comfortable.

A girl a few rows ahead had gone ghostly pale, her knuckles white around her quill. Another stared fixedly at her notes instead of the demonstration, rocking faintly in her seat as though refusing to look might somehow make the screams disappear.

The parchment slid back once more.

Don't feel sorry for them.

I read the next line.

They sold their souls. They understood the price. They simply chose the wrong master.

My breath caught.

Almost without thinking, my hand rose to my chest. My fingertips settled over the scar hidden beneath my uniform.

The contract mark.

Cold spread slowly through my body.

Those people had chosen. They had known who they were giving their souls to. Had I?

I couldn't remember making the contract. Couldn't remember agreeing to anything. But someone had. Someone wearing my face. Someone who had willingly—or perhaps desperately—accepted whatever bargain had placed the mark beneath my heart.

Xael hadn't merely warned me about it. He'd looked disturbed.

You made a contract with something you shouldn't have.

The words echoed through my mind as another scream ripped across the theatre.

If ordinary contractors ended strapped to tables like these...

What waited for someone whose contractor wasn't even a demon?

My fingers pressed harder against the scar beneath my uniform. For the first time since arriving in Gehenna...

I wasn't afraid of being discovered.

I was afraid that somewhere in the Underworld, whatever owned my soul might already be looking for me.