Morning made the city look honest.
Sunlight washed over concrete and glass, softening corners that had felt sharp the night before. People moved with purpose now—coffee in hand, conversations half-finished, worries neatly contained within schedules. If evil was growing, it was patient enough to wait for daylight.
He hadn't slept.
The presence from the night before still echoed faintly in his chest, like a note struck once and left to fade on its own. It hadn't returned. That didn't mean it was gone.
Kira leaned against the railing beside him, watching traffic from above. "You always get quiet after stuff like that," he said. "You know that, right?"
"After what?"
Kira smirked. "Exactly."
They stood near the edge of the neutral zone, the hotel's entrance visible across the street. In daylight it looked even more harmless—glass doors, polite staff, nothing that suggested ancient rules or unspoken consequences. Still, the air around it felt… steady. As if chaos simply forgot how to exist there.
"You don't have to come with me," Kira said.
"I know."
And yet, they crossed the street together.
Inside, the world softened. Sounds dulled, footsteps felt lighter, and the pressure in his chest eased almost immediately. It wasn't relief exactly—more like containment. Whatever he was, whatever he carried, this place acknowledged it and refused to react.
A human receptionist smiled at them. Normal. Unaware. That was part of the rule. Neutral ground protected ignorance as fiercely as peace.
They didn't stay long.
Outside again, the city resumed its quiet hum. He exhaled, slower this time.
"Someone noticed me," he said at last.
Kira didn't pretend to misunderstand. "I figured."
"That doesn't bother you?"
Kira shrugged. "Everything notices everything eventually." Then, after a pause, "What matters is who acts."
The words settled uncomfortably.
He nodded, though something in him resisted. Angels observed. Demons calculated. Humans endured. Acting was rare—and costly.
As if summoned by the thought, the air shifted.
It wasn't dramatic. No shadows stretched. No sound announced itself. Just a subtle change, like the world leaning closer.
He turned.
Across the street, a man stood where there hadn't been one before. Ordinary clothes. Calm posture. Eyes too sharp for the setting.
Angel.
Not openly. Not aggressively. Just enough for the Gifted to know.
The angel's gaze passed over Kira without pause, then settled on him. Not hostile. Curious. Measuring.
Observed, something inside him whispered.
The angel inclined his head—barely a gesture at all—then walked away, dissolving into the crowd as easily as breath.
Kira let out a low whistle. "That's new."
"He didn't say anything."
"Angels rarely do."
Silence followed, heavier than before.
"So," Kira said lightly, too lightly, "what does Heaven want with a guy like you?"
He didn't answer. He didn't know how.
Half-demon. Half-human. Fully inconvenient.
He felt it then—the smallest response from within, a restrained heat that stirred and settled, as if something had acknowledged the angel's interest and chosen patience over reaction.
Limits existed for a reason.
They started walking again, blending back into the city's rhythm. Yet something fundamental had shifted. The rules were still there, intact and breathing—but they were no longer distant.
He wasn't being ignored anymore.
As they disappeared into the crowd, he missed the way Kira's expression hardened for just a moment—sharp, focused, and far too aware.
Whatever was coming, it wasn't moving blindly.
And it already knew which side he stood on.