Cain remained on the couch, transfixed by the television. The news cycle had erupted into a frenzy of speculation. Interviews flashed across the screen: skeptical scientists dismissing the Mars images as digital artifacts or atmospheric anomalies, excited ufologists claiming definitive proof of extraterrestrial life, and a somber procession of religious leaders from various faiths. The religious figures, however, seemed to share a singular, grim consensus. They pointed to the winged silhouette, spoke of prophecies and signs, and declared with unsettling certainty that the time of the Rapture was at hand.
Cain's eyes drifted from the screen to Lucifer, who was methodically drying the last dish at the sink. Then he looked down at the strange, accusing mark on his own forearm. The connection felt like a physical blow.
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In Gabriel's penthouse, specifically in the master bedroom, a different kind of storm had passed. The room was in disarray, as if a localized hurricane had vented its fury. Empty wine bottles lay on their sides. A shattered glass was embedded in the drywall. Clothes and cushions were scattered like fallen leaves. In the center of this chaos, Gabriel was still asleep, but barely. Her lower half was tangled in the silk sheets of her massive bed, while her upper torso had slid off the mattress and rested on the floor. Her robe was askew, her hair a wild silver cascade across the carpet. Only the bunched-up blanket preserved a shred of modesty.
The bedroom door opened silently. Raphael entered, still immaculate in his dark suit. He surveyed the wreckage with a practiced eye, his expression neutral. He approached the bed and knelt, giving her bare shoulder a series of light, respectful taps.
"My lady," he said softly. "You will be late."
Gabriel's eyes fluttered open. Her vision was blurred with sleep and the lingering fog of alcohol. Then, her innate perception activated, the sense that allowed her to see the gravitational distortion of objects in space. She immediately registered the distinct warp in reality standing beside her bed.
Fwip. Fwip.
In the space between one heartbeat and the next, she was standing beside the bed. Her robe was neatly tied, her hair smoothed back as if she had just finished combing it. Raphael, now looking at the empty space on the floor where she had been, turned his head to find her standing upright.
He offered a slight bow. "Good morning."
"How long have you been in my chamber?" she asked, her voice still rough. Her violet eyes swept over the room's disorder with clear annoyance.
"I offer my most sincere apologies for the intrusion, My Lady. I wished only to ensure you did not miss your morning appointment." Raphael kept his tone carefully deferential. He raised his hands slightly in a placating gesture.
"Does my room appear untidy to you?" she asked, crossing her arms.
"It does, My Lady." He allowed a nervous smile. "Might I inquire if something is troubling you?"
"Something like that," she replied, rolling her eyes with exasperation.
She yawned, stretching her arms. As she did, the familiar soft sound echoed twice in the room.
Fwip. Fwip.
The scattered bottles righted themselves and flew to a recycling bin. The cushions plumped and arranged themselves on a divan. The clothes folded and stacked. The glass shard dislodged from the wall and reassembled itself on the nightstand. Within a second, the room was pristine, save for the large, dark red wine stain that soaked into the center of the mattress.
She walked out of the room without a backward glance, Raphael falling into step behind her. "What time is the appointment?" she asked, heading straight for the kitchen and the waiting bottle of wine.
"The investors are scheduled for ten o'clock, My Lady," Raphael replied.
"And the other matter?" she asked, turning to face him, one eyebrow arched.
Raphael's posture shifted. His professional demeanor evaporated, replaced by a grave seriousness. "Based on intelligence gathered by the Watchers who observed the conflict between Archangel Michael and Lucifer in Hell, the consensus is that Lucifer demonstrated the capacity to hold her ground against a fully manifested Michael." He paused.
"And?" Gabriel's stare was intense, demanding.
Raphael averted his eyes. "The Heavenly Council has dispatched two more members of the Ten Commandments. Their objective remains unchanged: to secure the bearer of the Mark. They anticipate your full cooperation in subduing the Fallen One."
Gabriel's eyebrows furrowed deeply. "No," she stated flatly. "I will not participate. I am not subject to the Council's whims."
Raphael's voice remained steady, though his discomfort was palpable. "Every celestial being, My Lady, is bound to act under the authority of the Seraphim. They are the highest order within the Creation. To refuse is to be designated a traitor."
Gabriel looked at him with pure disgust. She pointed a finger at his chest. "I am a daughter of the Creator. I answer to no choir, no council. You, however, are an angel. You are bound by those rules." Her voice grew colder. "You serve me. If you ever disobey my direct command, you will find yourself back serving Michael. Permanently."
Raphael immediately bowed his head. "I apologize. I will accept any punishment for my insolence. Please, anything but a return to Archangel Michael's service." He straightened slightly, his voice tight. "The Commandments are expected to arrive by noon. They intend to meet with you at the corporate office."
A short, humorless laugh escaped Gabriel. "Stand up straight," she ordered.
He did.
She reached out and pinched his cheek, a strangely playful gesture that was undercut by the ice in her eyes. "Do not fret. I have no intention of dismissing you. I find tormenting you far too entertaining." Her smile vanished. "But if you ever act against me, if you conspire behind my back, I will end you myself. Remember, you are merely a substitute. A replacement for the position Lucifer abandoned when she Fell."
Raphael bowed again, deeper this time. "Thank you, My Lady. You have my oath. I will do everything within my power to aid you in ending Lucifer personally, without external interference."
Gabriel gave him an appraising look. "Good. Your obedience is commendable." She turned away, the moment of vulnerability and rage now completely buried under layers of calculated control. "Now, I must prepare to greet the mortals and their money."