The next day - December 28th
In Sm Novaliches.
Cain was alone in the National Bookstore, his eyes scanning the crowded shelves with a growing sense of frustration. He had been wandering the aisles for nearly twenty minutes, the fluorescent lights humming overhead, and still he hadn't found what he was looking for. The book he wanted—a practical guide on swordsmanship, something beyond the flashy, historical coffee-table books—seemed to be absent. He had texted Gabriel about it earlier, a casual ask, and she had replied with a simple, "Try the martial arts section, third floor." But the third floor held only fitness manuals and yoga guides.
A part of him wondered if he should have let Lucifer come with him. She would have located the book in an instant, or simply plucked the knowledge from the ether with that detached, celestial certainty of hers. But he had insisted on going alone. He needed normalcy, or at least the illusion of it. A simple errand. A human task. After the brutal training session in the backyard last night, his muscles ached with a deep, unfamiliar soreness, and his mind still buzzed with the phantom sensation of that glowing katana in his hand. He wanted to anchor himself in something mundane, something that didn't involve divine energy or the impending end of the world.
He was zoning out, replaying Lucifer's instructions in his head—"Visualize the edge, the point of impact, the intent to sever"—when he turned a corner too sharply and bumped into someone. There was a soft gasp, the rustle of paper, and a thud.
Snapping back to the present, Cain saw a woman on the floor, a few books scattered around her. "Shit, I'm so sorry," he blurted, his face heating with immediate embarrassment. He leaned down, offering a hand. "Are you okay?"
The woman looked up, and for a second, Cain was struck by her appearance. She had short, stylishly cut hair the color of a summer sky, and her eyes were a deep, startling ruby red. She took his hand, her grip firm, and stood up smoothly, brushing off her jeans.
"Yes," she said, her voice light and amused. She bent to pick up the books she'd dropped.
One of them caught Cain's eye instantly. It was a thick, practical-looking manual with a simple cover: The Functional Art of the Sword: Mechanics, Tactics, and Application. Exactly what he'd been searching for.
His gaze fixed on it. "Oh! It's that book."
The woman followed his look, picking up the manual. She raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk touching her lips. "Ma'am, by any chance, are you interested in swords?" he asked, pointing at the book.
"Are you trying to hit on me, weirdo?" she shot back immediately, her tone teasing but her eyes scanning him with an intensity that felt like being examined under a lens. She tucked a strand of blue hair behind her ear, a gesture that seemed both casual and deliberate.
Cain flushed, suddenly aware of the other shoppers glancing their way. "No," he said, too quickly. "I was just trying to ask where you got that book. I've been looking for it everywhere."
Her smirk softened into something more apologetic. "Oh. My bad." She held up the book. "Sorry to say, but this was the last copy. I snagged it from the reference section over there." She pointed toward a quieter corner of the store marked 'Martial Arts & Military History.' "You might want to check if they have a waiting list."
Cain's shoulders slumped slightly. Of course it was the last copy. He nodded his thanks. "Right. Thanks anyway." He gave her a brief, awkward smile and turned to leave, deciding to cut his losses. Maybe another branch would have it, or he could order it online. The thought of waiting for delivery felt strangely unbearable. He wanted the knowledge now. He needed to be better, faster.
He was halfway down the long, polished hallway leading to the mall exit, his mind already cycling back to training scenarios, when a hand closed around the back of his shirt, pulling him to a gentle stop.
He turned, surprised.
It was the same woman. She stood there, the sword manual tucked under her arm, her head tilted. "Hey," she said, her ruby eyes glinting. "I feel kind of bad for snapping at you. And for taking the last book." She gestured toward the bright, familiar logo visible through the glass storefront across the corridor. "Let me buy you a coffee. As an apology. Starbucks?"
Cain hesitated. The offer was unexpected. He was not in the mood for socializing, and the idea of making small talk with a stranger over expensive coffee felt like a special kind of torture. "I, uh, appreciate it," he said, "but I'm not really the type to spend hundreds on a cup of coffee. It's fine, really."
She laughed, a clear, bright sound. "I'm paying. I insist. Consider it my guilt tax for being rude and book-greedy." She gave him a look that was both challenging and disarming. "Come on. Ten minutes."
He wavered. A thought occurred to him—if he was nice, maybe he could convince her to lend him the book after she was done with it. It was a long shot, but better than nothing. "Okay," he relented. "As long as I'm not paying for anything."
"Deal," she said, grinning.
They found a small table by the window in the crowded Starbucks. She ordered a complicated-sounding frappuccino with extra whip. Cain, feeling self-conscious, scanned the menu and pointed at the cheapest brewed coffee option.
She laughed again when she saw his choice. "Really? You're gonna make me feel like a sugar-crazed monster."
He shrugged, managing a small smile. "I like simple."
As they sat, she did most of the talking initially—light, breezy chatter about the mall, the terrible music piping through the speakers, how hard it was to find good books nowadays. Cain participated with short answers, his focus constantly drifting back to the book she had placed on the table between them. He steered the conversation back to it whenever there was a pause.
"So, how long do you think it'll take you to finish that?" he asked, sipping his black coffee.
She stirred her drink with a straw, watching him. "Eager, aren't you? I don't know. I'm a slow reader when it's technical stuff." She paused, then leaned forward slightly, her expression shifting to something more direct, playful. "Do you think I'm your type?"
The question was so abrupt it took him a second to process. "No," he said, the answer automatic and utterly devoid of tact.
The word hung in the air. A couple at the next table glanced over, their eyebrows raised. He heard a faint whisper. "Did he just…?" Cain ignored them, his focus entirely on the book and the frustrating dead-end this encounter represented.
The woman—Eli—blinked, then let out an awkward, stuttering chuckle. She seemed more surprised than offended. "Wow. Okay, straight shooter." She took a long sip of her drink, her cheeks tinged with pink. "Anyway. To answer your earlier question, yes, you can borrow it after I'm done. But it might be a while. Tell you what, give me your socials. I'll message you when I finish the last chapter."
Relief washed through him. That was something. "Really? That'd be great." They pulled out their phones and exchanged contacts. As he inputted her name—she told him to save it as 'Eli'—she asked, "So, do you have a girlfriend?"
He shook his head, not looking up from his screen. "No."
She smiled then, a different smile than before, less teasing, more… assessing. She extended her hand across the table. "Well, it's nice to officially meet you, book bandit. I'm Eli. Short for Elizabeth Valencia."
He shook her hand. Her skin was cool. "Cain," he replied.
After that, the conversation wound down quickly. They finished their drinks under a slightly strained but polite silence, then parted ways at the store entrance with a nod.
Cain walked towards the taxi bay, his mind already moving on to the next task—checking other bookstores. He didn't look back.
Elizabeth Valencia watched him disappear into the crowd, her playful demeanor evaporating. She walked to the parking garage, slid into the driver's seat of a sleek, silver sedan, and locked the doors. The interior was silent. She pulled out her phone, not to call or text, but to open social media apps.
She typed his name into the search bar: Cain.
It was a common enough name, but combined with his face, it didn't take long. She found his profile—sparse, with few posts. She scrolled past images of sunsets, a half-finished painting, a coffee cup on a desk. Then she stopped.
There it was. A picture, probably a few years old. Three people standing side by side, arms around each other, smiling in front of a Christmas tree. Cain, looking younger, less worn. A woman with warm eyes and dark hair—Amelia. And on his other side, a stunning woman with sharp features and silver hair, her violet eyes even in the photograph seeming to hold a knowing, amused glint.
Gabriel.
Elizabeth's ruby eyes narrowed, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her face. She zoomed in on Gabriel's face, her finger tapping the screen thoughtfully.
"Oh," she murmured to the empty car, her voice now devoid of its earlier light tone, replaced by something cooler, more calculated. "So he's connected to daddy's partners." The smile turned razor-sharp. "How very interesting."
She saved the photograph, closed the app, and started the car. The engine purred to life.