The hallway of the luxury apartment complex smelled like lavender and high-end floor cleaner. It was quiet, the kind of expensive quiet that Jude's dorm room could never achieve.
Jude stood in front of door 15B.
He looked down at the plastic Wawa bag in his hand. Inside was a bottle of off-brand electrolyte drink, a bottle of water, a box of ibuprofen, and an everything bagel, toasted, with extra cream cheese.
The Simp Starter Pack, a voice in his head whispered. You are literally a delivery boy. You killed a demon twenty-four hours ago, and now you're bringing breakfast to a girl who spent the night grinding on a guy named Brad.
Jude adjusted his grip on the bag.
It's not simping. It's being a good friend. She texted me. She checked in.
He took a breath, smoothed down his hoodie—the gray one, back to uniform—and knocked.
Rap. Rap. Rap.
He waited. Shifted his weight. Almost turned around to leave.
The door clicked. It swung open.
Natalia stood there in an oversized t-shirt that hung off one shoulder and gray sweatpants. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, loose strands framing her face. No makeup.
She looked perfect.
Most people looked like roadkill when they were hungover. Ollie looked like a reanimated corpse. Greta looked like a ghost with a grudge. Natalia just looked soft, like a hazy filter had been applied to her life.
She blinked at him, shielding her eyes from the hallway light.
"Jude?" Her voice was deeper than usual, raspy with sleep.
"Hey." He held up the bag like a peace offering. "I come bearing electrolytes."
Natalia looked at the bag. A slow smile spread across her face, not her party smile, but something smaller, tired, genuine.
"You are a lifesaver," she sighed, opening the door wider. "Come in. If I stand in this light any longer, I'm going to dissolve."
Jude stepped inside. The apartment was freezing. Natalia kept the AC on arctic settings. The air smelled faintly of tequila from the night before.
The living room was empty. The pristine white couch had a dent in it where someone had clearly passed out, but the person was gone.
"Where's the crew?" Jude asked, walking to the kitchen island.
"Kelvin went to get food." Natalia shuffled to the counter and climbed onto a stool, pulling her knees to her chest. "David is… somewhere. I think he's asleep in the bathtub. I heard snoring coming from the guest bathroom earlier."
Jude unpacked the bag. He set the bagel down on a paper towel. Cracked the seal on the ibuprofen. Slid the blue drink toward her.
"My hero," Natalia murmured. She took a long sip, closing her eyes. "Oh my god. That is the nectar of the gods."
Jude stood on the other side of the island, leaning against the granite, watching her.
He wanted to ask about the party. He wanted to ask about Brad. He wanted to ask why she looked for him if she was just going to ignore him when he was there.
But he didn't.
"I'm sorry," Jude said instead.
Natalia lowered the bottle. Her dark eyes were unreadable.
"For what? Bailing? Again?"
"Yeah." Jude picked at the label of the water bottle he'd bought for himself. "And for the lame excuse."
He took a breath.
"I didn't have a migraine, Nat. I just… I hate those parties. The noise. The crowd. I get there, and I feel like the walls are closing in. I tried to stick it out for you, but I couldn't."
Natalia studied him. She took a bite of the bagel, chewing slowly.
"I know," she said.
Jude looked up. "You do?"
"Jude, you look like a hostage every time we go to Sigma Chi." A small smirk played on her lips. "You stand in the corner clutching your drink like it's a shield. It's painful to watch."
She sighed, brushing a crumb off her shirt.
"I just keep inviting you because I miss you. When we're actually hanging out. Not 'party' us. Just… us."
The words hit him squarely in the chest. Just us.
It was the opening he needed. The window Bob had told him to ignore. The window his insecurity kept telling him was painted on a brick wall.
He took a breath.
"I want to make it up to you," Jude said.
"You bought me a bagel." Natalia gestured at the spread. "We're cool."
"No." Jude pushed off the counter, standing straight. He forced himself to hold her gaze. "I mean I want to actually hang out. No loud music. No keg stands. No David screaming about mechanical bulls."
He swallowed the lump in his throat.
"Let me take you to coffee. Or lunch. Sometime this week. Just the two of us."
The apartment went silent. The hum of the refrigerator seemed incredibly loud.
Natalia stopped chewing. She looked at him, and her expression shifted into something skeptical. Guarded.
"You'll bail," she said. It wasn't mean. It was a statement of historical fact. "You'll say yes, and then ten minutes before, you'll text me that you have a stomach bug or a paper due or your apartment flooded."
"I won't," Jude said. "I swear. I won't bail."
He meant it. For the first time in his life, he felt like he had the capacity to actually show up. Maybe it was the wings. Maybe it was the fact that he'd faced down a demon and lived.
"Coffee," Natalia repeated, testing the word.
"Coffee. Tuesday? After your Comm class?"
She looked at him for a long moment. The messy hair. The gray hoodie. The earnest, slightly desperate look in his eyes.
Slowly, the skepticism melted away.
"Okay," Natalia said.
Jude blinked. "Okay?"
"Tuesday." She nodded. "But if you flake, Jude Miller, I'm blocking your number. Seriously."
"I'll be there." A smile broke across his face, wide and relieved. "I'll be early."
"You better be." She took another sip of the blue drink, hiding a small smile behind the bottle. "Now get out of here. I need to go back to sleep for four hours before I can face the world."
"Yes ma'am."
He walked to the door, feeling lighter than he had any right to. Like he was floating. And for once, he didn't need wings to do it.
Sunday, 11:45 PM.
The basement of the abandoned textile factory in West Philly smelled like wet rust and rot.
"Left! Jude, go left!" Bob screamed, hovering near the ceiling to avoid the ankle-deep black water.
Jude didn't argue. He pivoted on his heel, boots splashing through the muck, and raised the Celestial Bow. The motion was fluid now. Practiced.
Three Rot-Stalkers—demonic possums the size of large dogs—were scampering over the rusted machinery, their eyes glowing with a hungry green light.
"Greta, move!" Jude barked, firing an arrow without looking.
THWIP.
The arrow pinned the lead Stalker to a steel beam, exploding in a burst of blue light. The demon dissolved instantly.
"I'm… trying!" Greta gasped.
She wasn't flanking. She wasn't fighting. She was curled around a rusted support beam, dry heaving violently into the water. Her withdrawal had hit a new peak—she was shaking so hard her teeth chattered audibly, but she refused to make a sound of pain.
She gripped the handle of the Wyrmmaker Labrys, using it like a crutch just to stay upright.
The axe was dead. No glow. No crackling rainbow energy. Just a massive, dull hunk of cold metal that looked far too heavy for her to lift.
"It's coming at you!" Bob warned.
The second Stalker lunged at Greta.
"Fuck," Jude cursed.
He dropped the bow construct, sprinted three steps, and tackled the creature mid-air before it could reach her.
They hit the water hard. The Stalker hissed, raking its claws across Jude's chest. The divine energy shield flared, absorbing the blow, but the impact knocked the wind out of him.
Jude jammed his blade into the creature's throat. It shrieked and dissolved into sludge.
He scrambled up, heaving for breath, wiping slime from his eyes. He reached for Greta's jacket.
"Don't touch me," Greta snarled, slapping his hand away.
She dragged herself up using the rusted beam, wiped bile from her mouth. Her eyes were wild and glassy, burning with humiliation.
"You're welcome," Jude panted, turning to face the third Stalker.
He didn't wait for her. He knew she couldn't help. He raised his hand, summoned the bow, and fired a point-blank shot that vaporized the last demon.
"Clear," Jude panted.
"Sloppy," Bob critiqued, landing on a dry crate and checking his watch. "But effective. We're not done. We have a hive on South Street. Move."
Monday, 2:00 AM.
The alley behind the cheesesteak shop was swarming.
Sludge-Mites—black, jittery balls of teeth—rolled toward them like a wave of oil.
Jude was in a rhythm. Draw. Fire. Draw. Fire.
His arms burned with exhaustion, his black sweatshirt was ruined, and he was covered in grime, but his aim was true. Every arrow found a mark, popping the mites like balloons. He was stepping into the role, his movements sharp, efficient.
He was carrying the team.
Greta was the liability.
She was slumped against the brick wall near the dumpster, sliding down to the pavement. The heavy axe lay across her lap, useless.
"Greta, wake up!" Jude yelled, kicking a mite away from his boot. "Use the axe! Just smash them!"
Greta groaned. She grabbed the handle. Gritted her teeth, sweat matting her hair to her forehead, and tried to heave the weapon up. Her knuckles turned white. She pulled until a vein popped in her neck.
"Come on," she hissed at the metal. "Turn on. Turn on, you piece of shit."
Nothing. No sparks. No light. Just dead weight.
She let out a growl of frustration and dropped it. The metal clanged dully against the asphalt.
"It's broken!" Greta screamed, eyes blazing. "It's fucking broken, Jude!"
"It's not broken, it's dormant!" Bob shouted from the fire escape. "It rejects the host when the host is compromised! You're too weak!"
"Shut up!" Greta shrieked, grabbing a loose brick and hurling it at him. She missed by ten feet.
Jude spun around. A cluster of mites had broken the line and was rushing her.
"God dammit," he muttered.
He abandoned his position. Sprinted back. Placed himself between Greta and the swarm.
He didn't use the bow. He split the weapon into dual blades.
He became a whirlwind of golden light. He hacked and slashed, moving with desperate, angry speed. He stomped on mites, crushed them with his elbows, sliced them apart with the blades.
He didn't stop until the alley was silent.
Jude stood there, chest heaving, covered in black goop. He let the weapons dissolve.
He turned to Greta. She was shivering, clutching her stomach, staring at the useless axe with pure hatred. She didn't cry. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She just glared at the ground, jaw set tight.
"Are you hurt?" Jude asked. His voice was tired but gentle.
Greta looked up at him. She saw the concern in his eyes. She hated it.
"I'm fine," she lied through gritted teeth.
She tried to stand, but her legs buckled. She started to fall.
Jude caught her. Grabbed her arm, steadying her.
"Get off me," Greta muttered, though she didn't pull away this time. She couldn't.
"Lean on me," Jude said quietly. He reached down and grabbed the handle of the Labrys with his free hand. It was heavy, impossibly heavy without being chosen, but he lifted it.
"Let's go."
He walked her out of the alley, supporting her weight, dragging her weapon, doing the job for both of them.
And Greta hated him for every second of it.
Philadelphia was quiet now, except for the distant wail of a siren and the ragged sound of their breathing.
Bob had vanished—presumably to file his reports or grab a late-night taco—leaving them alone in the grime.
Jude let the Labrys dissolve. The heavy weight vanished from his hand, turning into motes of rainbow light that faded into the darkness. He retracted his own bow, feeling the familiar ache settle into his bones as the adrenaline crash hit him.
He looked at Greta.
She was in bad shape.
She was leaning against the brick wall, arms wrapped tight around her stomach, shaking so violently that her teeth clicked together. Her skin was the color of wet clay, sticky with a cold, unhealthy sweat.
She looked small. She looked like she was about to shatter.
"Greta," Jude said softly, stepping toward her. "Hey."
He reached out, intending to steady her, maybe help her to the street.
Whack.
Greta's hand shot out, batting his arm away.
"Don't." She pushed herself off the wall, swaying dangerously. "Don't touch me."
"You can barely stand," Jude said, his patience fraying. "You're shaking, Greta. Let me just—"
"I said I don't need your fucking help!" Her voice cracked. She glared at him, eyes glassy and wild. "I don't need you to carry me. I don't need you to pity me. I don't need anything from you."
"We're partners, Greta. Whether you like it or not. We have to work together or we're both going to end up dead in a sewer. Bob said—"
"Fuck Bob." She spat the words. "And fuck you."
She shoved past him, shoulder checking his chest.
"I'm going home."
She started walking down the alley, boots dragging on the pavement. She didn't have a weapon. She didn't have her magic. She barely had her balance.
Jude watched her go.
He looked at the dark street. The shadows stretching between the streetlights. He thought about the Scavengers and the Stalkers and the things that watched from the dark.
He groaned, rubbing his face with dirty hands.
"I fucking hate this job," he whispered.
He started walking.
He kept his distance, ten feet back, but he matched her pace.
Greta heard his footsteps. She stopped. Spun around, swaying.
"Stop following me!" she screamed, though she didn't have the breath for it. "I said fuck off, Jude!"
"No." Jude didn't stop walking until he was six feet away. "You're alone. You don't know how to use your weapon. If a Scavenger jumps you, you're dead."
"I can take care of myself!"
"Clearly." Jude gestured to the vomit stain on her jacket. "You're doing a great job."
Greta opened her mouth to scream at him again, but the energy wasn't there. Her shoulders slumped. The fight drained out of her, leaving only the misery of the withdrawal.
She hated him. She hated that he was right. She hated that he was standing there, sober and strong and glowing with that stupid golden light, while she felt like a hollowed-out shell.
She turned around without another word and started walking again.
Jude followed.
They walked the ten blocks to her apartment in silence. Greta stared straight ahead, burning with humiliation. Jude walked behind her, scanning the rooftops, watching the shadows, guarding the girl who hated his guts.