The sun wasn't even up properly yet. It was that gray, miserable hour of the morning where the light is dull and the world looks like it hasn't finished rendering.
Jude opened his eyes.
He waited for the pain. He waited for the sharp stab in his ribs where the demon had swatted him, or the throbbing ache in his left arm where he had hit the car windshield.
Nothing.
He sat up, rolling his shoulders. There was a faint stiffness, like he had done a heavy gym session the day before, but the bones had knit. The bruises had faded to faint yellow smudges.
Angelic healthcare, Jude thought, swinging his legs out of bed. The only perk of the job.
Across the room, the top bunk was vibrating. Ollie was face-down on his mattress, still fully dressed in his party clothes, snoring with the rhythmic intensity of a chainsaw. He smelled like a brewery and cheap cologne.
Jude rubbed his face. It was 6:48 AM on a Sunday. The silence in the dorm was heavy.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound was soft, hesitant, but in the dead silence of the morning, it sounded like a hammer hitting an anvil.
Jude froze. He looked at Ollie. Ollie snorted, mumbled something about "beer pong," and kept sleeping.
Jude stood up, stepping over a pile of laundry, and walked to the door. He unlocked it and pulled it open.
Greta was standing in the hallway.
She looked wrecked. She was wearing an oversized hoodie that swallowed her frame and sweatpants, but her face told the real story. Her skin was pale, almost translucent under the fluorescent hall lights. Dark circles bruised the skin under her eyes. She looked brittle, like if someone spoke too loudly, she might shatter into dust.
She wasn't glowing anymore. She wasn't holding a rainbow labrys. She was just a girl who looked like she hadn't slept in twenty-four hours.
"Greta," Jude whispered.
She didn't look him in the eye. She stared at his chest, right where the demon had hit him.
"You're walking," she said. Her voice was scratchy.
"Yeah," Jude said, self-consciously pulling his t-shirt down. "I heal fast, I guess."
"Must be nice."
She looked up then. Her eyes were bloodshot, but clear. Sober. Terrifyingly sober.
"We need to talk," Greta said. "Not here. Ollie wakes up if a pin drops."
"Let me get my shoes," Jude said.
The walk was silent.
The campus was a ghost town. The early morning wind blew red solo cups across the pavement like tumbleweeds. A squirrel sat on a bench, chewing on a discarded slice of pizza.
Jude kept his hands in his pockets, matching Greta's pace. She walked with her head down, hood up, radiating a "do not approach" energy field that was strong enough to deter even the most ambitious campus missionaries.
They ended up at The Daily Grind, a small cafe on the edge of campus that opened early for the medical students and the insomniacs. It was empty, save for a barista who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.
"What do you want?" Jude asked at the counter.
"Coffee," Greta rasped. "Black."
"And food?"
"If I eat, I will throw up on you," Greta said flatly.
"Right. Black coffee it is."
Jude ordered a sesame bagel with cream cheese and a coffee with enough milk and sweetener to mask the taste of the coffee. They sat at a small, wobbly table in the back corner, far away from the window.
Jude unwrapped his bagel. The smell of toasted bread filled the space between them. He looked at Greta. She was clutching the paper cup with both hands, using the heat to stop her fingers from trembling.
"Greta," Jude started, keeping his voice low. "Are you okay? I mean... after everything..."
"Stop," Greta snapped.
She slammed the cup down. A little bit of black coffee sloshed onto the table.
"Don't do that," she hissed. "Don't sit there and ask me if I'm okay like we just had a bad night at the bar. Don't act like this is normal."
"I'm not," Jude said, pulling his hand back.
"You are," Greta accused. She leaned forward, the exhaustion in her face momentarily overridden by the sharp edge of her anger. "You're sitting there eating a bagel. You walked here without a limp. You look fine. I feel like I'm losing my fucking mind."
She took a breath, her chest heaving.
"I'm the one asking questions today, Jude," she said. "Me. Not you."
Jude nodded slowly. He pushed the bagel away. "Okay. Ask."
Greta stared at him. She looked at his shoulders, as if expecting the wings to burst out right there in the coffee shop.
"Why?" Greta asked. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Why do you have... that? The wings. The light. The whole superhero shtick."
She gestured vaguely at him.
"You're Jude," she said, as if that explained everything. "You fail classes. You trip over your own feet. You let David put you in headlocks. How long have you been... whatever you are?"
"Since Tuesday," Jude said.
Greta blinked. "Tuesday? Like... four days ago?"
"Yeah."
"Bullshit," Greta scoffed, shaking her head. "You fought a monster the size of a tank last night. You don't learn that in four days."
"I died, Greta," Jude said.
The words hung in the air, heavier than the smell of coffee.
Greta froze. "What?"
"Tuesday night," Jude said, looking down at his coffee. "When I went to get snacks for Natalia. The gas station on 15th. It got robbed."
He looked up at her.
"I didn't get mugged. I got shot in the head."
"I woke up in a waiting room," Jude said, tearing off a piece of his bagel but not eating it. "It looked like the DMV. Infinite rows of orange chairs. A ticket number that said I had to wait two thousand years."
He told her everything. He told her about Bob stamping papers behind the counter. He told her about the portal to the Angelic chamber. He explained Seraphile, the ten-foot-tall woman made of gold and authority who had looked at his pathetic life and offered him a job instead of an ending.
"She called it a contract," Jude murmured. "She said the world is like a submarine, and the walls are cracking. The demons aren't invading; they're leaking in. And someone has to patch the holes."
He looked up at Greta. She was staring at him, her coffee forgotten.
"I know my problems are stupid compared to yours, Greta," Jude said quietly. "I know I've had it easy. I was just depressed and lost. You've actually had to fight to survive. And I'm sorry for acting like my pain was the only thing that mattered."
Greta waved her hand, a sharp, dismissive motion.
"Shut up," she said. "Don't apologize to me. It's weird. And I don't want your pity."
She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked out the window at the empty street.
"So," Greta said, her voice dripping with skepticism. "You're a superhero now? You're like... Ironclad? Or Titan?"
"No," Jude said quickly. "God, no."
"Why not?" Greta challenged. "You have wings. You have a magic bow. You killed a monster. That's pretty superhero-y to me. You gonna get a cape? Start doing car commercials?"
"Those heroes aren't real, Greta," Jude said, leaning in. "Ironclad? Titan? They're products. They're mascots owned by venture capitalists. P.I.T. keeps them around to stop bank robbers and pose for Instagram. They keep us happy. They keep us stupid."
Jude lowered his voice, glancing at the barista to make sure he wasn't listening.
"Bob told me that if Titan tried to fight a real demon, he'd be a stain on the pavement in four seconds. They can't handle this. The government probably knows the demons are real, and they're covering it up because panic is bad for the stock market."
"So what are we?" Greta asked. "If we aren't heroes?"
"We're something else," Jude said. "We're the ones who do the dirty work in the dark so everyone else can pretend the light is still on. We're not heroes, Greta. We're janitors."
Silence settled over the table. The hum of the refrigerator in the corner seemed deafening.
Greta picked up her coffee cup again. She traced the rim with her finger.
"So what if I tell?" she asked softly.
Jude froze.
"What if I just... go to Natalia's right now?" Greta continued, her eyes locked on his. "What if I tell David? What if I post it on TikTok? 'Hey guys, Jude is an angel and there are monsters in the sewers.'"
Jude slumped in his chair. The exhaustion he had been holding back washed over him.
"I don't know," Jude admitted, his voice hollow. "Seraphile would probably kill me. Or worse. And if P.I.T. found out? If the government found out I was real?"
He laughed, a dry, humorless sound.
"I'd end up in a black site somewhere. Strapped to a table. Dissected. They'd take me apart to see how the magic works."
He looked at Greta. He looked at the girl who had terrified him for years.
"If you tell them, my life is over. One way or another."
Greta stared at him. She evaluated him. She saw the fear, the resignation, and the truth. She took a sip of her black coffee. She grimaced at the taste.
"Fine."
Jude let out a breath he felt like he'd been holding since Tuesday. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me," Greta muttered. "I'm doing it because if I tell Natalia, she'll make it all about her. And I can't deal with that right now."
It got quiet again. The tension in Jude's shoulders finally started to unknot. They were safe. For now.
Ding-ding.
The bell above the café door chimed cheerfully. Jude looked up instinctively.
A man walked through the door. He was balding, middle-aged, and wearing a cheap suit that looked like it had been slept in. He held a clipboard in one hand.
Jude's heart stopped.
It was Bob. Of course it was.
He didn't wait for an invitation. He pulled a chair from a nearby table, turned it around backward, and straddled it, resting his arms on the backrest. He looked at Greta, taking in the oversized hoodie, the dark circles, and the general air of a person holding themselves together with sheer willpower.
"Wow," Bob said, letting out a low whistle. "You look like a raccoon that got washed on the 'heavy duty' cycle. Sobriety is a rough look on you, kid. Usually, people get the 'glow up' after they put the bottle down."
Greta didn't snap. She didn't flip him off. She just took a sip of her black coffee, her hand trembling slightly.
"Kiss my ass, Bob," she whispered into the cup. It was weak, lacking her usual venom.
"Why are you here?" Jude asked, his voice tight. "It hasn't even been twelve hours. Couldn't you give us a day? Just one day to process the fact that we almost died?"
"I wouldn't be here if you two hadn't screwed the celestial pooch so thoroughly last night," Bob said, tapping his pen against his clipboard. "Do you have any idea what's happening upstairs right now? The Council is currently chewing Seraphile out. They want your heads. They want the contract burned and the asset—that's you, Sunshine—liquidated."
Greta flinched at the word liquidated, staring into her coffee.
"But Seraphile is stubborn," Bob continued. "She's standing by her decision. Which means you two are now officially on Probation."
"What does that mean?" Jude asked. "Do we get ankle monitors or something?"
"You'll wish it was ankle monitors," Bob muttered darkly. "Ankle monitors don't scream at you when you screw up."
"Ankle monitors aren't that bad," Greta mumbled, staring out the window. "They chafe for the first week, but you get used to the weight. You just have to wear baggy pants."
Jude looked at her, surprised. Bob just raised an eyebrow. A lighter, weirder moment settled over the table.
"Right," Bob drawled. "Well, this is worse. You are on Celestial Cleanup Duty."
"Cleanup?" Jude asked.
"Janitor work," Bob clarified. "Low-level infestations. Sludge-mites. Noise complaints from the spirit realm. Surveillance. The boring, tedious stuff that usually gets delegated to the interns. You're going to be monitored twenty-four/seven. If you sneeze wrong, I have to file a report."
Jude groaned, putting his head in his hands. Greta just looked tired. Neither of them looked excited about being supernatural janitors.
Bob watched them for a second. His expression softened. The bureaucratic mask slipped, revealing the tired, overworked ex-actuary underneath.
"Look," Bob sighed, dropping the clipboard onto the table. "I know this sucks. You're kids. You've had a hell of a week. And honestly? I feel for you. You shouldn't be dealing with this."
He leaned in closer, lowering his voice.
"But Seraphile isn't doing this just to be mean. She's worried. The Council is worried. That thing you fought last night? That wasn't supposed to be here. Something bad is coming, kids. Something that makes the sludge-monster look like a golden retriever."
"So let us fight it!" Jude argued, looking up. "If it's coming, let us help."
"You can't!" Bob snapped, frustration leaking into his voice. "You're not ready! Jude, you nearly died three times in one fight. And Greta..." He looked at her. "You're holding a nuclear weapon and you don't even know how to turn the safety off."
Bob ran a hand over his bald spot.
"This cleanup duty? It's not just punishment. It's practice. If you do this, if you prove you can handle the small stuff without blowing up a city block, then you might get back in their good graces. Jude proves he's not a fluke. Greta proves she can stay sober and actually wield the Labrys without vaporizing herself."
Bob looked them both in the eye.
"You do the grunt work. You get good. You survive. Then? Then maybe you get a shot at the white whale."
Jude looked at Greta. She was still staring out the window, but her jaw was set. She wasn't arguing.
"First order of business," Bob said, picking up his clipboard again. "Sloppiness. You two left a crater in the street and enough spectral residue to haunt a graveyard. P.I.T. is going to be scrubbing that alley for weeks."
"We'll do better," Jude promised quietly.
"You better," Bob said.
He stood up, adjusting his cheap suit jacket. He looked down at the table, at Jude's half-eaten bagel and Greta's black coffee. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, and placed it on the table.
"Get some real food," Bob said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "And get some sleep."
Jude looked at the money, then up at the angel. It was a small gesture, but it felt huge.
"Thanks, Bob," Jude said.
"Don't get used to it," Bob grunted, turning toward the door. "Expense accounts are tight this quarter."
He paused with his hand on the door handle.
"Rest up," Bob called back over his shoulder. "And get ready for tonight. Shift starts at sundown."
The bell chimed as he walked out, leaving Jude and Greta alone in the quiet cafe, staring at the twenty-dollar bill and the weight of the work to come.