The dorm room smelled like body spray, cheap vodka, and sweat.
It was 3:12 AM. Bass from a Bluetooth speaker shook the frame of the bunk bed, vibrating the empty Natty Light cans scattered across the tile floor.
David was shirtless again, demonstrating a wrestling move on Kelvin, who sat on a beanbag chair holding a red solo cup like a holy chalice. Ollie was attempting to rap along to the track, failing miserably but committing fully.
In the corner, hunched over Jude's desk, Greta was busy.
She'd cleared a space between the laptop and a stack of overdue library books. With a credit card, she chopped a small pile of white powder into neat, thin lines. Her movements were practiced. Surgical.
"Greta, stop," Emily whispered, hovering like a nervous ghost. She kept glancing at the door. "We're literally in a dorm. You can't do that here."
"Relax, Em." Greta's voice was raspy. She leaned down, inhaling sharply through a rolled-up dollar bill, then snapped her head back, sniffing hard. Her eyes watered. A shiver rattled through her frame, followed by a slack, euphoric release in her shoulders. "It's medicinal. Keeps the demons away."
"It's going to get us expelled," Emily whimpered, clutching her cardigan.
The door handle jiggled.
"RA!" David hissed, dropping Kelvin immediately. The music cut out.
The door swung open.
It wasn't the RA.
Jude stood in the doorway. He looked like he'd been tumbled in a dryer full of rocks. His hoodie was torn at the shoulder, his hair matted with sweat and drywall dust, and his eyes were wide, dilated saucers.
But he was alive. And remarkably, there wasn't a mark on him.
"JUDE THE DUDE!" Ollie screamed, breaking the silence.
"Where the hell have you been?" Natalia sat up on Jude's bed, looking impeccable even at 3 AM, holding a bottle of water. "You went to get snacks four hours ago."
The room descended into chaos. David tried to hug him. Kelvin offered him a beer. Questions flew like shrapnel. "Did you get lost?" "Did you hook up with someone?" "Where are the chips?"
Jude stood there, blinking.
The adrenaline from the fight was crashing, replaced by bone-deep exhaustion. Gravity felt like it had tripled. He could still feel the phantom weight of the wings on his back—folded away now, hidden somewhere inside him he didn't understand.
You're back in the cage, a quiet voice whispered. Different cage. Same bars.
"I…" Jude's voice stumbled. He cleared his throat. "I got mugged. Sort of. Dropped the snacks. Just walked around for a bit to cool off."
The room went quiet.
David looked ready to fight someone. "Mugged? Who? I'll kill 'em."
"I'm fine," Jude said, stepping into the room and closing the door. "They didn't get anything. I just… I'm really tired, guys."
A chair scraped against the floor.
Greta stood up. She wiped a speck of powder from her nose. Her pupils were blown wide, black holes swallowing the green of her irises. She swayed slightly, but her focus was laser-sharp.
"Bullshit," Greta said.
The air tightened.
"What?" Jude leaned against his closet door for support.
"You didn't get mugged." Greta stepped closer. She smelled like chemicals and aggression. "You walk in here looking like you just came back from a tour in Afghanistan, but you don't have a scratch on you? You're lying."
"Greta…" Emily warned.
"Where were you really, Jude?" Greta poked him in the chest. Hard. "Too good for the bar? Too good for us? You go off and do something better?"
"I didn't do anything. I'm tired, Greta. That's all."
"Oh really?" She sneered. "You think you're so special. You think—"
"Greta."
Natalia stood up. She didn't shout. She didn't have to.
She walked over, placing a gentle hand on Greta's shoulder. Her eyes scanned Jude—the torn hoodie, the dust—but she smiled anyway.
"He's shaken up," Natalia said, smooth as silk. "Let him breathe. We can interrogate him in the morning."
There it is, Jude thought. The leash. Gentle as always. But still a leash.
Greta tensed, looking between Natalia and Jude. For a second, it looked like she might swing. Then the drugs won. She slumped, rolling her eyes.
"Whatever," Greta muttered, turning back to the desk. "He's a bitch anyway."
BAM. BAM. BAM.
The fist pounding on the door made everyone jump.
"RESIDENT ADVISOR! OPEN UP!"
"Shit," David whispered.
"Everyone who doesn't live here, get out. Now!" The voice from the hall was authoritative and annoyed.
"Party's over," Ollie whispered, shoving David toward the door.
The group scrambled. Natalia gave Jude a quick, lingering look—one that said we're going to talk about this—before slipping out. Greta grabbed her stash, flipped Jude the bird, and stumbled into the hallway.
The door clicked shut.
Silence.
Jude didn't even change. He collapsed onto his bottom bunk, staring at the wooden slats of Ollie's bed above him.
He was alive. He was an angel. He was failing economics.
And you're right back where you started, the voice said. Same room. Same people. Same you.
Except now you have a job.
He passed out before his brain could decide which reality was worse.
"Jude. Jude. JUDE."
The name drilled into his skull.
Jude gasped, jolting awake. He sat up too fast.
PAIN.
It wasn't a headache. It was a full-system shutdown. Every muscle seized. His bones felt like they'd been disassembled and reassembled by someone who didn't read the instructions. His shoulders—right where the wings had sprouted—burned with a dull, white-hot ache.
He groaned, clutching his head. "Jesus Christ…"
"You're alive!" Ollie chirped.
Jude cracked one eye open. The sunlight streaming through the window was offensive.
Ollie stood over him, fully dressed in a tie-dye shirt, backpack slung over one shoulder. He looked annoyingly awake.
"What time is it?" Jude croaked. His throat felt like sandpaper.
"Noon." Ollie checked his watch. "You missed Macro. And Stats. I tried to wake you, but you were in a coma, dude. Mumbling about the DMV in your sleep."
"Shit." Jude fell back onto the pillow. "Two classes. My dad is going to kill me."
"Yeah, you're probably cooked," Ollie agreed cheerfully. "Anyway, I gotta run to Music Theory. Left you a pick-me-up in the fridge. ValorCola Energy. The blue kind. Enough caffeine to kill a horse."
ValorCola, Jude thought. Taste the Freedom. 0% Sugar. 100% Justice.
The ads never stop.
Ollie held up a hand. Jude forced himself to sit up, wincing as his spine cracked, and bumped Ollie's fist weakly.
"Thanks, man."
"Don't disappoint your parents again!" Ollie called out, slamming the door behind him.
Jude sat in the silence of the empty room.
He felt like he'd been hit by a bus, then backed over by a sedan for good measure.
He reached for his phone on the nightstand. The screen was a wall of notifications.
DAD: Are you in class? Tracking says you're in the dorm. NATALIA: Hope ur okay! <3 last night was weird lol. bring my snacks later? GRETA: fuck u.
Jude stared at his dad's text. The lie came easily. Too easily.
JUDE: Sick. Stomach bug. Studying in room.
That's what you do, the voice said. You lie. You comply. You disappear into whatever shape they need you to be.
Heaven gave you wings and you're still crawling.
He tossed the phone onto the bed and dragged himself upright.
He needed a shower. He needed to wash the gas station off his skin, wash the death off, wash the memory of the gun barrel out of his head.
He walked to his desk and connected his phone to the Bluetooth speaker, scrolling for something that matched his mood.
He pressed play. Acoustic guitar filled the room. The Eagles. Lyin' Eyes.
"Appropriate," Jude muttered.
He shuffled toward the closet to grab a towel. He felt different. Heavier, but also stronger. The way he moved felt precise, like a weapon that had been sheathed.
He grabbed his towel and turned toward the full-length mirror on the back of the door.
He looked like hell. Dark circles under his eyes. Pale skin. His hair was a disaster.
He leaned closer, checking his eyes. Wondering if they looked different now. Wondering if they looked like hers.
"You got a little something in your teeth, kid."
Jude froze.
He wasn't looking at his own reflection.
Standing directly behind him in the mirror, leaning casually against Ollie's bunk, was Bob.
The balding, mustache-wearing angel from the DMV. Clipboard in one hand, half-eaten bagel in the other. His tiny, pathetic wings fluttered lazily.
Jude screamed.
It was a high-pitched, rather pathetic sound.
Panic overrode logic. He spun around, grabbed the first thing his hand touched—a heavy Doc Marten boot—and hurled it at the angel's head.
"Whoa!" Bob ducked. The boot smashed into the wall with a deafening THUD.
"Get out!" Jude roared, grabbing the other boot. "Get out of my fucking room!"
Bob straightened up, brushing crumbs off his tie. He looked unimpressed.
"Easy, Tiger. Is that how you treat your Case Manager?"