CHAPTER ONE: A SHOVEL, A CORPSE, AND A TERRIBLE IDEA

Lirien had never dug up a corpse before, but she was fairly sure she was doing it wrong.

For one, the grave was too shallow. That suggested someone had been in a rush, which was either convenient or deeply disturbing. The ground was frozen, stiff under her calloused fingers, and every strike of the shovel sent dull shocks up her arms.

Somewhere behind her, leaning against a moss-covered headstone, Alekai Dorne was watching. Not helping. Just watching.

She paused to glare at him. "You're supposed to be the experienced criminal."

Alekai tilted his head, a slow, lazy grin creeping across his face. "And you're supposed to be the desperate necromancer. We all have our roles to play."

"Your role is digging." She gestured at the shovel. "Pick it up."

He put a hand over his chest, mock-offended. "Lirien, I'm here for moral support."

"You're about as useful as a knife with no blade."

"But I have such charm," he said, flashing her the smirk that had undoubtedly led to countless poor decisions. Alekai was the kind of person who could talk his way out of a murder charge while standing over the body with the bloody knife in hand. His features were sharp, all high cheekbones and wicked angles, his black hair tousled just enough to look effortless. The kind of man who belonged in a well-tailored coat and a dimly lit gambling den, not lurking in a graveyard with a stolen shovel.

Lirien scowled and stabbed the blade into the dirt again. "You could at least pretend to be useful."

Alekai exhaled dramatically. "Fine. What if I emotionally support you? I could offer words of encouragement. Like, 'You're doing great, Lirien. Fantastic form. Look at that dirt fly!'"

"I hate you," she muttered.

"That's fair," Alekai agreed, brushing nonexistent dust off his sleeve.

She considered throwing the shovel at his face but figured the corpse would be a better use of her energy.

With one last heave, the shovel hit something solid.

The sound echoed unnaturally in the graveyard. A dull, hollow thunk.

Lirien exhaled sharply. Here we go.

Alekai crouched beside the grave, his earlier amusement flickering into something more serious. "That's him?"

She nodded and brushed the dirt away with shaking fingers.

Ren Dorne's body was too intact.

Two weeks underground, and he still looked like himself. His black hair was still neatly tied back, his sharp features eerily still. His lips, slightly parted, were tinged blue. His funeral clothes—dark, formal, unnecessarily expensive—were pristine, save for a few stray dirt stains.

His brother was dead, but he looked like he was waiting.

Alekai was silent. For the first time since this plan had been hatched, the smirk had vanished from his face.

"You sure about this?" Lirien asked quietly.

Alekai didn't answer immediately. His gaze was fixed on his brother's face, something unreadable flickering behind his dark eyes.

Then he let out a slow breath. "He would've wanted this."

"He wanted to stay dead?"

"Well. Probably not. But he also didn't want to die in a piss-soaked alley, so…" Alekai made a vague gesture.

Lirien exhaled through her nose. Why am I doing this?

But she already knew the answer.

She reached into her satchel, fingers closing around the rune-carved bone she had stolen from a very angry priest. It was ancient, humming with a pulse that was not quite magic, not quite alive.

Lirien had never wanted to be this kind of person.

She wasn't some dark sorceress, whispering spells in the dead of night. She had grown up in the gutter, surviving on scraps, using her quick hands and quicker tongue to stay alive. But there had always been something wrong with her.

A priest had once told her she was cursed. That her soul was not entirely human.

He had not lived long enough to explain what he meant.

Now, she was about to prove him right.

She placed the rune on Ren's chest.

Nothing happened.

Alekai, unhelpful as always, coughed. "Uh. Is it supposed to—"

The world cracked.

The rune burned, not with fire, but with something worse—absence. Darkness curled across Ren's skin, sinking into his veins like ink seeping into parchment. His fingers twitched. His chest jerked upward, a sharp, unnatural motion, like a man gasping after being held underwater.

His eyes snapped open.

Alekai took a slow step back. "Oh. That's unsettling."

Ren groaned, lifting a hand to his forehead. "Why does my skull feel like it got caved in?"

Lirien exhaled, heart pounding. It worked.

Ren blinked, confused. His sharp, intelligent eyes flicked between them, then down to the dirt-stained lapels of his funeral clothes. His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

Finally, he frowned. "Why the hell am I in a hole?"

Alekai grinned. "Because you died."

Ren's expression did not change. "Right. And why am I not dead anymore?"

Alekai gestured toward Lirien. "All her fault."

Ren's gaze snapped to Lirien. He studied her, and she felt pinned under the weight of his stare. Ren had always been the observant one, the twin who noticed everything. She had never liked that about him.

"You," he said slowly, "brought me back from the dead."

Lirien shifted awkwardly. "Technically, yes."

Ren absorbed this. Then, in a perfectly flat tone, he said, "That's incredibly rude."

Alekai snorted.

Lirien groaned, pressing her fingers to her temples. "I cannot believe I wasted a priceless necromantic artifact on you two."

"You could always kill me again," Ren offered. "If it would make you feel better."

"I might," she muttered.

Alekai clapped a hand on Ren's shoulder. "Well, little brother, welcome back to the world of the living! Now let's get out of here before the gravekeeper notices we stole his shovel."

Ren blinked. "Wait. You didn't bring a shovel?"

Alekai beamed.

Ren sighed, rubbing his temples. "I was dead for two weeks, and you've already committed at least four different crimes, haven't you?"

"You know me so well," Alekai said cheerfully.

Lirien groaned and hauled herself out of the grave. She had so many regrets.