After the dishes were done, they settled on the couch. Lucifer picked up the remote and began flicking through channels. Cain stopped her when a news broadcast came on.
The headline on the screen detailed a gruesome discovery: a car found in a mall parking garage, its interior drenched in blood, with the lower half of a man's body inside. Cain immediately knew who was responsible. He glanced sideways at Lucifer, but she was watching the screen with the same detached curiosity she gave to everything, seemingly unaware of any connection.
He was quietly grateful there were no security cameras in that isolated corner of the garage, and no other witnesses.
Lucifer sensed his look. She turned, her head tilting in question. "Is something wrong?"
"No," he said, shaking his head. He decided to change the subject. "I was thinking. My boss, Ms. Montes, mentioned something. She heard your voice on the phone and thought you might be… striking. She said she could make you a model." He watched her face. "I think it's a good idea. You could use your… appearance to earn money. Just by standing and walking. It's better than… well, what happened with that man yesterday."
Lucifer's eyes lit up. She leaned forward, nodding eagerly. "A model? That sounds agreeable. What does a model do?"
Cain smiled, relieved by her interest. He explained what little he knew about modeling—wearing different clothes, walking in shows, having photographs taken. He admitted his knowledge was pretty basic.
They spent the next few hours talking about his simple human plans. Cain outlined ideas for the coming week before his next meeting with Gabriel. Lucifer listened, and to every suggestion she gave the same happy response: "I agree to that."
The conversation was easy, filled with a mundane warmth that felt precious. Hours slipped by unnoticed.
Eventually, the clock neared midnight. Cain stretched, a yawn escaping him. "I should get some sleep. Big day of planning tomorrow."
Lucifer nodded. "Good night, Cain."
He went upstairs to his room. He changed into just his boxers, retrieved two sleeping pills from his nightstand, and swallowed them with a sip of water before collapsing into bed.
Downstairs, Lucifer remained on the couch, but her attention was no longer on the television. For hours, she had been aware of a presence, a subtle, watching energy hovering just beyond the roof of the house. She had waited patiently for Cain to fall asleep.
Once the slow, steady rhythm of his resting heart reached her ears, she turned off the TV. She stood up. She remembered she needed a key to operate the door's lock from the inside to go out. That was a human constraint she could bypass.
She allowed herself to levitate an inch above the floor. Her eyes began to glow with a soft, golden light. She activated one of her fundamental abilities, targeting the very concept of her own physical mass. In a rapid, instantaneous process, she divided that concept repeatedly, effectively erasing her mass while maintaining her tangible form. In this weightless, abstracted state, she could move at the speed of thought itself.
One moment she was in the living room. The next, she had divided the space between the inside of the door and the outside, appearing silently in the cool night air. She looked up, then ascended into the sky.
High above the sleeping city, three figures hovered, bathed in faint moonlight. They were the Watchers sent by Gabriel. They had been waiting, patient and vigilant. The moment they saw Lucifer rising to meet them, their hands flashed. Swords of pure, condensed divine light manifested in their grips.
Lucifer did not summon any weapon. She simply spread her arms wide, palms open, in a gesture of non-aggression. "You waited for me to come out," she observed, a hint of dry humor in her voice. "You could have attacked while I was with the human. That was… considerate."
One of the Watchers spoke, its voice resonant and formal. "We respect the sanctity of a dwelling. Combat is not our directive. We are here to negotiate." The unspoken reason hung in the air: they had seen, or at least knew of, what had happened to Zephon. They understood the disparity in power.
"Who sent you?" Lucifer asked, her golden eyes scanning their tense, ready forms.
"The Archangel Gabriel herself ordered our presence."
"Then I will only negotiate with Gabriel," Lucifer stated flatly.
The Watchers immediately protested. They were the designated emissaries. They could convey her terms.
Lucifer's expression cooled. "If Gabriel is not my counterpart in this discussion, there will be no discussion. And you will share Zephon's fate."
The threat was clear, calm, and utterly believable. The Watchers exchanged a silent glance. They folded.
"If you would grant us a moment," one said, its tone now markedly more polite. "We will request the Archangel's presence."
"Proceed," Lucifer said, making a dismissive gesture.
One of the Watchers shot away into the night sky, a streak of light heading back toward the city's center.
The remaining two stood in uneasy silence with Lucifer for several minutes, hovering in the cold, high air.
Fwip.
Then, without warning or fanfare, Gabriel appeared. She did not arrive from the direction the Watcher had gone. She simply materialized beside her two remaining agents, having sensed the summons. She hovered effortlessly without manifesting wings, clad only in her simple silk robe. In one hand, she held a half-full glass of red wine. She took a slow sip, her violet eyes appraising Lucifer with a look of utter disdain.
"We have finally met, Murderer." Her voice was like polished ice. "And you dare to disturb my evening."
She waved a hand without looking at the Watchers. "Leave us."
They bowed and vanished instantly, grateful to be away from the mounting tension.
Sound?
Lucifer did not waste time on pleasantries. "My condition is simple. Smuggle the human into Heaven. Allow him to deliver his apology to Amelia. In exchange, I will surrender myself to you peacefully."
Gabriel let out a short, derisive laugh. She took another sip of wine. "You want me to defy heaven's law, to risk everything I have built, just so that cynical little monkey can say he's sorry? And you offer your surrender in return?" She shook her head, her expression one of pure disgust. "No. The offer is insulting. I refuse."
Lucifer's gaze sharpened. "If you know Cain, if you are his friend as your tone suggests, why have you never helped him? If you knew Amelia was his heart's burden, why did you not save her? Are you so obsessed with your rank, your angelic duties, that you would let your friend's friend die? That you would cause such a death?"
Each word was a needle, carefully aimed. Gabriel's composure began to crack. The casual, disdainful mask slipped, revealing the raw nerve beneath. This was not the negotiation she had planned.
"Aren't we in the same position?" Gabriel shot back, her voice losing its smoothness, gaining an edge. "The Creator said Samael was your dearest friend. Why did you kill her then?"
The name hung between them, heavy with ancient grief and accusation. Lucifer looked away, breaking their locked gaze. She sidestepped the question. "This negotiation is futile. It will not satisfy either of us. We should adjourn. Reconsider our methods another time." She began to turn, as if to leave.
"Answer me!" Gabriel's command ripped through the night. The wine glass in her hand shattered, crushed by her grip. Dark red liquid and crystal shards fell through the air, vanishing before they could hit the ground. "Why did you kill her?"
Lucifer paused. She glanced back over her shoulder, her profile illuminated by the city lights far below. "Because I had to."
The answer was simple, absolute, and utterly hollow to Gabriel.
"Cain gave me advice," Gabriel said, her voice trembling now with a fury so deep it was cold. "He told me not to kill my sister's murderer. He spoke of moving on, of honor." She stared at Lucifer, all pretense of negotiation gone. "But looking at you now, I see no need for deals or terms. I am declaring war. Upon you. I will kill you. And if Cain stands in my way, I will kill him too."
A slow, knowing smile spread across Lucifer's face. It held no warmth, only a dark anticipation. "Good luck with that."
Then she was gone. Not with a flash or a sound, but with a simple cessation of her presence.
She reappeared in Cain's living room, settling back onto the couch as if she had never left. She picked up the remote and turned the television back on, the glow painting her serene features in shifting colors.
She sat perfectly still, the quiet hum of the broadcast the only sound.
I am sorry, Cain, she thought, the words a silent whisper in the empty room. I do not think I can honor your request this time.
Upstairs, in his drug-induced sleep, Cain's body betrayed his unconscious mind. His fingers twitched spasmodically. His hands clenched the bedsheets into tight fists. Sweat beaded on his forehead and temples. Behind his closed lids, his eyes darted back and forth rapidly. His heart began to pound, a frantic drum against his ribs. His breathing grew shallow and quick.
Suddenly, with a ragged gasp, his eyes flew wide open in the dark.