Eli slipped quietly into the dark alleys of Nue. The rain had stopped, leaving the streets littered with debris—silent evidence of the storm that had passed. Her footsteps were light, her presence nearly undetectable. A blue neon sign from the building beside her flickered endlessly, its glow the only source of light. She walked at a pace that was neither urgent nor calm, simply moving forward.
Not far ahead, a drunkard stumbled as he tried to lift himself from the sidewalk.
"Just a little alms for a man in need," he slurred, extending a trembling hand toward her.
Eli slowed and stopped, turning to face him. His hair was matted with oil and dirt, his skin ashen and sunken, the darkness sharpening the harsh lines of his almost skeletal face.
How movable and weak humans are, she thought.
"A penny for another booze?" she asked.
His eyes squinted with delight as he smiled. Wrinkles split his dry skin, broken teeth widening his grin. For a man in misery, he smiled far too often.
"You got it, missy," he said.
"A man can only endure so much of what life has already written for him," Eli murmured. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, placed it on the ground, and weighed it down with a small pebble.
The man stared at the money, confusion overtaking his desire. He reached for it, then stopped.
"Why?"
For a moment, it was the most coherent question anyone had ever asked her.
"I'm not interfering," she said calmly. "I'm nudging. You can take this and turn it into something damaging. Or you can start something different tonight. Or… you can walk away."
His face twisted with uncertainty. He withdrew his hand and scratched his head instead.
Eli smiled faintly and walked on.
"That was stupidly poetic," she muttered to herself.
How unbearably uninteresting the world has become. Every man seems determined to burn himself.
Her phone rang, the sound echoing sharply through the empty streets.
"Hello?"
You're not answering my messages.
"Sorry. Got caught up with something."
Let me guess—teleporting from hell, heaven, Earth? Or Jupiter this time?
She snorted. "Close. Ur-anus."
Oh, bending me over?
"Peter, I don't have the equipment for that."
Boohoo. A shame.
She laughed.
"What are you up to?" he asked.
"Grabbing food."
This late? Outside?
"Well, yeah. It's a safe neighborhood."
Eli scanned her surroundings. It wasn't safe at all, especially for a woman. She lived in the burrows of a crime-stricken city, and truthfully, she was probably the most dangerous thing walking there.
"How many times do I have to tell you to call me if you need something?" Peter said gently.
She closed her eyes, savoring the concern in his voice. How lucky, she thought, for someone like me to experience something so human.
"I can manage. I'm a big girl," she said lightly.
There was a pause, followed by a heavy sigh.
She opened her eyes.
A figure stood not far away.
Peter.
Relief washed over her.
My sweet Peter.
A smile broke across her face as she walked toward him. He moved toward her too, urgency in his steps.
"Hi," he breathed.
She jumped into his arms. "I missed you."
He chuckled, the vibration steady beneath her cheek. "You wouldn't have if you answered my calls. But I missed you too, peachy."
"You know I could scold you," he continued, "but it wouldn't change anything. You always do whatever you want."
She nuzzled into his neck, saying nothing.
"When will you let me in, El?" he asked softly. "The walls are still there."
"I keep telling you," she said, "I'm part angel and part—"
"—demon?" he cut in. "Heaven sent you to me but you've got demonic tendencies? See, this is what you do. You dodge and turn everything into humorous poetry."
"I'm telling the truth," she murmured. "You just have to believe me."
"I do," he said. "But can we be serious? Just once?"
"I am serious."
He sighed. "Let's stop. I'll wait until you're ready to tell me the truth instead of hiding behind metaphors."
He pulled back and cupped her face. "I love you just the same, Peachy."
Eli chuckled after hearing that nickname.
"I love you too," Eli said, crashing her lips against his.
How deeply human, she thought. How unreal.
Her heart stayed unnaturally still while Peter's raced beneath her hand. She willed hers to follow, to imitate every beat. Somehow, the imitation felt real.
I am in love.
She pulled away first.
Peter didn't.
His hands stayed on her waist, too still. His chest beneath her palm wasn't moving.
"Peter?" she whispered.
He smiled slowly. Deliberately. The alley dimmed, as if the light itself were retreating. When his eyes caught the neon glow, something red reflected back.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
It was his voice. The same cadence. Perfect. Warm.
But it felt wrong.
"Your heart," she said. "It's—"
He tilted his head and didn't blink. "What about it, El?"
The way he said her name made her stomach twist.
She stepped back. "Where's Peter?"
Confusion flickered across his face, then amusement. "Peter?" he repeated. "Oh."
The air surrounding them thickened. Pressure pressed against her ears.
"Dinah Elissera," he said. "God's secret. Judged and vindicated."
Her blood ran cold. "Who are you? What did you do to him?"
"Isn't it amusing?" he said calmly. "Named twice. Carrying the surname of a mortal."
"Where is he?"
"You roam freely," he continued, eyes burning now. "You rebel freely. No punishment. Not from your Father. Not even from Him. But you've angered me."
"What—"
"I've had enough of your games," he snapped. "Your idiocy. In and out of my land as if it were nothing."
"Lucifer," she said.
He smiled. "I'm glad you recognize me."
Eli tore herself away and struck him.
"Yuck," Eli scoffed, disgust curling her lip. "I kissed you. You're my uncle."
The amusement on his face vanished.
In a blink, his hand closed around her throat and slammed her into the wall of one of the old buildings in the street. The impact rattled her bones, the breath punched from her lungs.
"Stupid little girl," he snarled. "That's all you have to say?"
"F–fuck you," she choked.
He slammed her again, harder.
"You don't want to know what I did to your precious Peter," he said, his voice low and cruel. "You don't want to know how his bones bent and twisted. How his blood pooled on the ground. How his eyes slipped from their sockets."
"No," she gasped.
"You don't want to know how he begged," Lucifer continued, smiling now. "How he screamed your name like you betrayed him."
"What did you do, you piece of shit?" she screamed.
"You have such a foul mouth," he sneered. "So unbecoming of Michael. Maybe you inherited it from your harlot of a mother."
"Fuck you," Eli spat. "And your fucking horns that don't even exist."
His grip tightened.
"Stupid little girl."
"You should've seen his face," he went on softly. "He was begging you to stop while you were murdering him."
"Shut the fuck up!" she screamed. "What did you do? What did you do to him?!"
"He was screaming your name," Lucifer said. "Telling you how much he loved you."
His face twisted, skin shifting, features rearranging—
Peter's face stared back at her.
"Eli, baby," he cried in Peter's voice. "What are you doing? Please—stop. Eli, stop—"
"Peter!"
Rage exploded inside her, hot and violent.
"Lucifer," she snarled. "I will fucking kill you. I swear to God I will. I'll make your death so slow and painful you'll regret ever defying Him."
Lucifer threw his head back and laughed.
Loud. Sinister. Skin-crawling.
Yes.
He was the Devil.
Her fist slammed into his face, pain exploding through her knuckles. His head barely moved. She hit him again and again—elbow, palm, knee—everything she had. The alley trembled.
Lucifer let her.
He laughed.
"Is that it?" he asked. "Is that all you have?"
She shoved him with everything she was. Power surged, ancient and wild, but he caught her wrist effortlessly. His grip tightened.
"You feel it now," he said calmly. "That weakness you pretend isn't there."
He flung her across the alley. She hit the wall and collapsed, air torn from her lungs. Pain bloomed everywhere.
"You want to hurt me?" he said softly.
Blood coated her lip as she pushed herself up. "I will kill you," she hissed.
He laughed, loud and unhinged. "Not tonight."
He stepped back into the shadows. "Go," he said mockingly. "Go find your precious Peter."
Then he was gone.
The alley fell silent.
Eli stood shaking. Her heart knew.
"No," she whispered.
The word barely left her lips before she ran.
The city dissolved around her as she sprinted, lights blurring into streaks, and buildings melting into one another. Her lungs burned, each breath scraping her throat raw.
Peter's home was almost an hour away on foot.
She flagged down a cab and yanked the door open. The driver turned, took one look at her, and froze. His face drained of color as his eyes swept over her, wild and shaking, and streaked with blood she could not remember earning.
"Please," she said.
Before she could get in the cab sped off screeching, leaving her standing alone under a flickering streetlight.
She tried again. And again. No one stopped. People stared, then recoiled. Some crossed the street. Others looked at her with fear, as if she were something dangerous.
Panic clawed at her chest until it made her nauseous. The sensation was familiar, deeply ingrained, and is etched into her long before she ever learned how to name it. She did not need her heart to beat. Fear did that for her, sharp and relentless.
That was the demon in her.
Rage, anger, destruction. Those emotions came easily, instinctive and violent, like second nature. As a child, she learned early that if she did not suppress them, they would consume her. So she buried them deep, locked them away, and pretended they did not exist.
Love was different.
Kindness did not come naturally to her, despite the angel's blood that ran alongside the demon's. Compassion was something she had to practice. Love was something she had to choose, over and over again, even when it felt foreign in her own body. With Peter, she had learned how to work at it. How to will her heartbeat to match his. How to stay gentle when fury whispered that it would be easier to burn.
And now that love was screaming.
She needed to get to Peter. Now.
Then she saw a man beside a motorcycle, helmet dangling from one hand, engine already humming. Without thinking, she rushed forward.
"I'm sorry," she said as she shoved him hard.
He fell back with a startled shout. "Hey!"
She was already on the bike.
The engine roared beneath her as she twisted the throttle. The motorcycle lurched forward, unstable at first, then steady as instinct took over. Wind tore at her hair, stung her eyes, pressed against her chest until breathing felt like a battle.
She flew through the streets, cutting through narrow alleys and sharp corners. The city became a maze of neon lights and darkened roads. Every second felt too slow. Every red light an insult.
Please be alive.
Her hands trembled on the handlebars as she pushed the bike harder, faster than she should have gone. Tires screamed against asphalt as she swerved past cars and clipped corners by inches. Fear vanished, replaced by a singular, brutal focus.
His street appeared suddenly.
She slammed the brakes and skidded to a stop.
Police cars lined the road. Red and blue lights washed over the houses. Over his house.
Her stomach dropped.
She pushed forward and saw the stretcher. The white sheet. The outline of the shape beneath it.
"No," she breathed.
Lucifer's words slammed into her mind. He was begging you to stop while you were murdering him.
Hands grabbed her arms. "Ma'am, step back."
She looked down at her hands. Red. Dried blood.
Girlfriend. Fight. Unstable.
She could hear them talking. They were voices and fingers pointing at her. The collective gasps of onlookers made the quiet night ultimately disturbed.
The story wrote itself.
A broken laugh escaped her. "You planned this," she whispered.
Cold metal snapped around her wrists.
"Dinah Elissera Carter," a voice said. "You are under arrest for the murder of Peter—"
She didn't hear the rest.
As they pulled her away, she looked back at the house she would never enter again.
Her love was dead.
And hell had won.