They didn't go back to the apartment.
Asher took Lena somewhere quieter—an abandoned rooftop overlooking the ocean, where the city felt far enough away to stop listening.
"You never read the contract," he said.
"I was busy not starving," she replied.
A thin smile tugged at his lips. "You should have read it."
"Are you telling me this is my fault?"
"I'm telling you there's a loophole."
That got her attention.
He summoned the contract into the air between them. The parchment glowed faintly, lines of infernal text sliding like living ink.
"This agreement doesn't end with your downfall," Asher said. "It ends with something else."
"What?"
He pointed to a single clause.
THE CONTRACT IS VOID WHEN THE SIGNATORY NO LONGER FEARS INVISIBILITY.
Lena stared.
"Meaning?" she asked.
"Hell feeds on attention. On being seen. On the terror of being forgotten," Asher said. "You signed because you were afraid of disappearing."
She swallowed.
"And if I'm not afraid anymore?"
"Then Hell has nothing to hold."
The wind lifted her hair as she looked out at the horizon.
"All this time," she whispered, "I thought they owned my future."
"They only owned your fear."
She turned back to him.
"And do I look afraid?"
Asher met her gaze.
"No."
A slow smile spread across her face.
"Then let's break it."
Somewhere deep in the machinery of Hell, something cracked.
Not loudly.
Not yet.
But enough for the rules to start trembling.