I take a deep breath and scrape my fingers through my hair. I died when I was eighteen years old. I was murdered.

I’m not sure “surviving” falls within my skill set.

“Feeling sorry for yourself will only make the headaches worse,” Gil says suddenly.

I leap up in alarm, pressing a hand over my heart. “Oh my God,” I say, motioning toward the door. “Do people not knock in the afterlife?”

Gil lifts a condescending brow. “There are no gods here. Just the Four Courts of hell.”

“Weird coincidence,” I say dryly, “but those are exactly the words of comfort I’ve been hoping for.”

He stares back, unmoving.

I break the silence with the first question that pops into my head. “What’s the deal with the beds? I didn’t think sleep would be necessary after you died.”

He pulls his mouth into a thin line. “It’s not. But just because you no longer have a true physical body doesn’t mean your consciousness doesn’t believe it’s still there. You’ll grow tired for the same reason you get the headaches—because your mind is still reacting to what was once familiar.”

“So it’s normal? To feel tired?”

His face doesn’t change. “It’s a weakness most of us outgrow.”

A weakness. I chew the edge of my lip. “I take it you don’t sleep?”

He moves across the room, eyes trailing the leather-bound books on a nearby shelf. “I haven’t needed to sleep for many lifetimes.” Studying the titles etched in gold on each spine, he inhales sharply before sweeping a hand through his tousled brown hair. And then he drops his arm, squares his shoulders, and turns to face me. “Annika wants to know if there’s anything you need. Anything to make you feel more at home.”

I hesitate before releasing my words like a sigh. “If she’s feeling guilty about earlier, you can tell her I don’t need an apology gift. She was looking out for her family. I might not agree with it, but I get it.”

“And yet you’re still angry.” He paces like someone who’s been cooped up for too long, glaring distastefully at the lack of decor. “You wouldn’t do the same to protect someone you care about?”

I shrug. “I’d like to think I could protect them without hurting someone else in the process.”

“Surviving isn’t always noble.” Gil stops moving and tilts his face, the shadows beneath his eyes darkening. “Sometimes it’s about doing the wrong thing for the right reasons.”

“Well, I don’t like those rules,” I say.

“Maybe not,” he replies, “but you should like the odds.”

I flinch at his words. Is that really the cost of surviving Infinity? We have to sacrifice pieces of our humanity if we want to continue existing?