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The tether burned. Not metaphorically. Not magically. Physically. My own cuffs seared my wrists with unbearable heat. Following the burning thread, I ran through the ruined, decaying halls, through layers of memories and dust and bones.

The acrid stench of sulfur hit me before I saw her.

When I entered the room, she was convulsing violently on the floor of what might once have been a drawing room. Her hands were clenched on the rotting floorboards, her fingernails split and bleeding and dragging splinters from the wood. Her body arched, a bow of flesh and an internal flame. The silver cuffs on her wrists glowed white-hot, branding her skin, as the celestial metal reacted to the infernal power surging through her. Her lips moved fast, shaping words in tongues not made for angels, for any being of light.

When her eyes snapped open, they were not her own. Infernal fire burned where the soft brown eyes once lived. Black-slit pupils, like a serpent’s, were blown wide with agony and a terrifying power.

And from beneath the skin of her forehead, just above her brows, horns appeared. Small, dark, but undeniably horns. Emerging.

I didn’t think. I reached for my wings, for that familiar surge of celestial power, to shield her, to pull her back from whatever abyss was claiming her, but nothing happened. No shimmer of light. No comforting pull in my shoulders. Not even the phantom feel of them. It was as if they’d been stripped away—unmade—to leave me helpless. I tried again, calling them by their ancient celestial names.

Nothing.

Something in this cursed house, in this desecrated space, was grounding me, suppressing my light. I gritted my teeth, my arms shaking with a useless fury, and ran to her.

Beside Cassia’s writhing form, I dropped to my knees and grabbed her wrists, ignoring the searing burn of the superheated cuffs. The infernal energy radiating from her was a physical blow, but I didn’t let go.

“C-Cassia!” My voice broke on her name, a raw sound.

She wasn’t there. Her mouth was twisted around a scream that wasn’t hers, her breath a guttering flame.

With one arm under her knees and the other around her shaking shoulders, I lifted her. She was terrifyingly light. Like she was hollowed out.

I then ran.

I ran as if there was no Heaven to return to, no Hell to fear. As I moved farther away from the cursed house, the air shifted from scorched and sulfurous to sharp and cold. Her throat’s alien cries fell silent, and the violent tremors finally ceased. The cuffs on her wrists felt cool. The horns’ protrusion stilled. Then slowly receded beneath her skin.

I didn’t stop until I reached the relative anonymity of a narrow, shadowed alley three blocks over. There, I dropped to my knees again, still holding her. My body trembled with the aftermath of the flight, of the fear.

Her chest rose and then fell, a shuddering breath. She looked at me. Still not herself but enough. For now, it was enough.

As I tried to catch my breath, still holding Cassia to my chest, the relentless burn of the cuffs faded, soothed as if by the afternoon air. She still trembled uncontrollably, her body beginning to recover from the violent seizures, but her form still lay slack, almost lifeless, in my arms.

The infernal tether that had bound my powers and had burned through me gave an incessant, agonizing pull. For a single moment, the entire world took a collective breath. It felt as though something ancient and powerful within me unlocked, like an old ache deep in my back transforming into a surge of divine energy. I had not summoned my wings in the light of day for countless centuries, but this was no moment for dusty traditions.

I exhaled, a ragged breath of surrender, and allowed them to unfurl. My frame felt too small for what stretched behind me, making me feel different. Their weight, their reach, made me feel displaced within my body. The thought needled me, strange, but there was no time to linger.

The wind caught me and bore me upward before hesitation could take hold. With gray and gold wings, I drove us into the sky at a speed that made the flight achingly brief, a blur above Prague. After landing atop her building, I folded my wings close and forced them to vanish, leaving behind no memory for any who might have glimpsed their shape.

After easing through the rooftop balcony’s open window, I cradled Cassia and carried her to the waiting bed. She remained motionless, not a single stir escaping her. Her eyes gave one fleeting flutter before settling into stillness. In that hushed, expectant room, I laid her down and brushed aside a damp lock of hair from her temple.

For long, quiet minutes, I just watched, consumed by a mix of worry and a raw vulnerability I hadn’t felt since her terrible fall.

I stood by the grimy window, watching the first reluctant hints of gray seep into the oppressive Prague afternoon. My mind was a chaotic replay of what had happened in Serion’s grotesque laboratory—Lysanthe’s tortured form, the vials of stolen essence. The seraph of Heaven monstrously perverting the very nature of souls.

I closed my eyes, reaching inward for that cold, sterile channel to the tribunal. It was a duty I loathed, a report that felt like yet another betrayal of Cassia, yet Serion’s atrocities had to be answered for.

Before I could fully form the celestial call, the air beside me shimmered. It congealed into an impassive unwelcome form of the heavenly messenger. His fractured halo cast a pale judgmental light in the dim apartment.

His voice was flat—an iron echo in the quiet room. “Remiel.” He didn’t look at my face. His gaze lingered on my hands, on the faint bronze bleeding into my usual white light. He didn’t speak of it, but his lip slightly curled—a micro-expression of distaste.

I was no longer just a subordinate. I was a contaminant.

“You have a report.” It wasn’t a question. It was a demand.

I didn’t turn from the window. My gaze remained fixed on the city. “Seraph Serion has been located.”

“His status?” the messenger inquired, his tone sterile.