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Outside, the Prague morning assaulted my senses with a biting chill, the bleak sky looming over the wet ancient stones. The air was thick with the acrid tang of coal smoke, intertwined with the crisp, unforgiving breath of winter. But I did not pause. I moved like a tempest, dragging the reluctant soldier of Heaven along on a leash of his own making.

I wanted him to bear witness to what he was so determined to guard. To follow my raging steps through narrow alleys stained with remnants of old blood and whispered secrets of forgotten magic. To feel, in every agonizing moment, what it truly meant to chain something inherently free.

The cuffs burned against my skin. But so did I.

Each footfall echoed my defiance, and the invisible tether stretched taut as he was forced to follow. But I did not slow my hurried pace.

A streetcar thundered past us, its screeching metal on rails a jarring punctuation to the city’s somber silence. The heavy air tasted of wet stones and smoked embers, and far off, a church bell tolled with a mechanical indifference.

Remiel briefly stumbled on the uneven pavement as I weaved through the crowded old square, maneuvering between stiff-backed men clad in heavy overcoats. Glances, curious and wary, darted our way—at the very tall and disheveled man following the very irritated woman. Some people stepped aside in haste, but most looked away.

A cold gust swept me into a side street of shuttered cafes and rusting balconies, their silence heavy. In this cramped alley, where time itself seemed weary, I could feel him close behind.

“Cassia,” he murmured again, his voice breathy now. “Where are you going?”

I offered no reply, letting my silence be its own answer.

It wasn’t until I ducked into an even narrower, more shadowed alley that I paused at the mouth of a half-concealed corridor draped in limp hanging laundry and tangled dead vines. I then slowly turned, meeting his desperate gaze.

His dark hair cascaded around his face, loose and unbound from its usual tie. His golden eyes, those windows to his tormented celestial soul, brimmed with a wild plea born of relentless strain.

“Cassia, please,” he said, his voice almost breaking. “Just stop for a second.”

I laughed under my breath bitterly. “Stop? You still think you’re here to guide me, Guardian?” I let the title drip like venom. “No. You’re here to trail after me like a loyal hound. And the best part? You don’t even know why.”

He stepped closer, his voice trembling. “Then tell me.”

“Tell you?” My smile twisted. “No. I’m done humoring your need for answers.”

The silence between us grew taut, humming like a wire about to snap.

I met his stormy gray eyes, my voice cool but laced with fire. “You think you saved me yesterday? Fool. There was nothing to save. I am what I am. And you carried the monster I chose to be.” I turned onto the next side street, shadows curling at my heels. “So, keep following, Guardian, and watch closely. Maybe you’ll finally see there’s nothing left of what I used to be.”

He drew a breath as if to speak, but I was already gone, my laughter trailing behind like sparks in the dark.

23. Remiel

The moment I crossed the threshold after Cassia into the Forbidden Quarter, I felt the light in me dim. Not a metaphor or an exaggeration. Something ancient and arcane wove through the very air of that place, a palpable darkness that swallowed divinity whole. My senses dulled. And even the faint celestial magic in the cuffs she still wore seemed to flicker and wane.

I could still see her, of course. She moved down the crooked alley like a restless flame, hips swaying with a purpose that both drew and repelled me. Her eyes scanned every shadowed face, every darkened doorway. Her aura pulsed around her. It was magnetic, volatile, and damnably irresistible.

And I chased it—the same way I always had.

Every few paces, she brushed against someone: a leering warlock with obsidian trinkets, a hollow-eyed fae, a vampire licking salt from his wrist. And with each contact, she seemed to change. Her voice would lighten, her laugh curled, and her posture shifted. Sometimes, she flirted, coy and biting. Sometimes, she leaned in, sharing secrets with devils. It was all theater, yet the fire in her eyes was terrifyingly real.

What in all the heavens was she doing? What could she gain by charming these corrupted creatures, by taunting me with every glance? My hands curled into fists, my knuckles white. The lack of divine power here, pressing against my bones, made the burn of jealousy sharper, rawer.

She stopped near a towering demon, who idly leaned against a crumbling wall while sharpening a claw on the ancient stone. Infernal sigils faintly pulsed down his throat. She stood directly in his path, a defiant challenge, and tossed her head, her long blond hair catching the flickering light. She offered him that slow, devastating smile that could promise paradise or eviscerate him. Her laugh was pure honey laced with razor blades.

The demon straightened, seeming intrigued. His lips curled into a knowing smirk. He leaned in, his gaze dropping to her throat. Then, with horrifying casualness, his sharp-clawed fingers caught a strand of her hair. He lifted it and twirled the pale silk around one black talon, his expression pure predatory appraisal. He then leaned closer, his fanged mouth hovering inches from her neck.

And Cassia… She didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just watched him, a challenging glint in her eyes.

That was it. Seeing that creature touch her, the implied intimacy, shattered me. Jealousy, a possessive rage, the primal fear of losing her—it all exploded.

Before my mind could register it, I surged forward and seized her forearm, harder than I’d intended. My grip was bruising as I yanked her back from the demon and spun her to face me. Her lips were still parted with some half-formed tease meant for him. But I wasn’t teasing. I was done.

My voice came low, trembling with an anger I didn’t recognize. “For one fucking second, Cassiel, stop!”