Fear was all that kept Micah upright. It hung in strings from the low ceiling, wrapping around his limbs in several taut loops, cutting into his bones with every stiff movement. Beneath the pin of Rivo's pistol, Raksey's eyes gleamed with the knowledge of it.

They barely had time to react. More humans prowled into the room, a few clad in the same red-splashed black as the first while most were draped in the multicoloured fabrics he recognised from the dance earlier. Maybe the faces would have been familiar to Corinne if she were here. All he saw was a blur, a collection of predators with darkness and malice etching out their figures. And the weapons.

A woman clad in sunset reds and oranges tackled Rivo, locking an arm around his neck. He struggled, his pistol cracking another ear-splitting sound before it was wrenched from his hand. The only damage it left was a hole in the centre of the door, shredding the wood beneath the black paint, right where the scarlet serpent twisted on its other side.

The lightning jolt of panic rippled along Micah's strings. He clawed at the window behind him, bare feet slipping on the floorboards as he whirled, searching for the latch. Sweat and blood slickened his desperate fingers. A hook glinted at him from three quarters of the way up, and he reached for it, trying not to think of the drop that awaited him or his useless, throbbing wing. He had to try. It was better than being trapped in here.

His thumb had barely made contact with the latch before a horrifying click shuddered through him, paired with the press of something cold and hard against his spine. "You're not going anywhere."

A cord of fear must have threaded around his throat, too, for how difficult it became to breathe. He stared hopelessly out at the gloomy sky beyond the glass, dread squeezing his heart.

"Thugs," Lilith hissed, her anger thin and breathless. He twisted to find her also with a pistol to her back, standing stock still with her fists clenched. Her gaze was downturned.

Past her, he caught sight of Jinx, and his lungs tightened further. No longer pinned to the wall, Raksey had sauntered over to her, and now his knife grazed her cheek. He grinned. She trembled. With her wings flat to her back, she looked far smaller than even she should.

"We have a new one, I see," Raksey purred. Laying a careful hand on her shoulder, he spun around her. The velvet-black edge of her wing caught between his fingers before she flicked it free. "Bat wings. You're a fascinating little creature, aren't you?" His knife slid to her throat, hovering there as he leaned in to whisper in her ear, though his words were hardly quiet. "Mistress Rajan will be delighted with you."

The colour drained from her face, her dark cheeks a shade paler. In a wild, darting glance, her eyes met Micah's.

Guilt roiled in his chest, a brief surge that shoved aside his own fear. Another thing that was his fault. How many times had Jinx saved him from the gaping maw of consequences? Though a partner in his trouble, she'd always kept him safe, always looked out for him. And now he repaid her by tossing her right into the worst danger yet.

I'm sorry, he mouthed.

Her lips parted, then pressed together again, her lower lip folding inwards as she bit down on it. She looked away.

"Don't worry, Micah," Raksey called, shooting Micah a sly glance that implied he'd caught the silent apology. The flat of his knife tapped Jinx's chin. "I'm sure your friend here is smart enough to comply. There'll be no need to hurt her." Attention shifting to the other attackers, he jerked his head towards the door. "Take them downstairs."

A hand locked around Micah's arm, wrenching him away from the window. He stumbled, hating how much he leaned into the support as he fought to right himself. The room spun. He blinked hard, lifting a hand to his head in an attempt to steady his vision.

The pistol dug sharply into his back, jolting him forward. "Keep moving," a girl's voice snapped.

The grip on him shifted, brushing through several feathers of his broken wing, and he bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep in his strangled cry. The coppery tang of blood stained his tongue. Still, as another shove tripped out a step, he forced himself to let it carry him further, every inch of him braced and shaking as he followed after Lilith. No wonder humans were so proficient at walking if these were the kind of challenges they faced. He could barely keep his balance.

The stairs presented an even greater obstacle, yet somehow he managed to traverse them, the soles of his feet slapping the smoothed stone after every careful stumble. It was only when he reached the ground, relief and exhaustion threatening to cave in the last dregs of strength he had left, did he lift his head.

His gasp burned his throat.

Propped against the wall, wrists laid over each other and tied together by thick rope, was Corinne. Her head was bowed, her eyes closed so that it was difficult to tell whether or not she was conscious. Her legs stretched out before her. One was coated in blood, the trouser leg torn, the dark, ugly crimson of a wound just visible beneath tattered strips of the material.

"Corinne," he breathed, barely forming the word on his lips. He summoned his voice. "Corinne!"

She didn't move. Barbed terror clawed its way up between his ribs, his heart hammering against it. No. She had to be alive. She had to be.

He primed his next shout with panicked desperation, but then a rough hand struck his back and the air to form it was knocked out of him. He landed on his stomach, his ribs twinging as they hit the hard floor. He dug his nails into the wooden boards, black spots splintering the edges of his vision, scrambling to find her again.

"Hey!"

Dragging his gaze from her bloodied leg, he found Lilith a few paces away, struggling against her captor. She shot him a fierce glare, then cast it at the girl standing over Micah. "He's injured," she snapped. "You're going to kill him."

But you said I wouldn't die. He swallowed the words, fighting to anchor himself.

"He'll be fine," the man said, sliding his pistol up her spine.

"No." Her bun was messed beyond repair, blonde wisps scattered in her face, her skewed glasses only adding to the wild look in her eyes. "He needs help. Let me tend to him."

"I can't do that." A dangerous lilt weighed on his voice. He accompanied it with a harsher tug, but Lilith's feet were firmly planted.

"Please." The word cracked. Inhaling audibly, she threw up her hands. "I'm unarmed."

The girl slid into Micah's view, brushing back her own, tamed white-blonde hair. A bandage wrapped her lower leg. "Let her," she said as she brushed past the man's shoulder. "Rajan wants him alive."

The man sighed, rolling his eyes, but released Lilith, turning sharply and marching after the girl. Lilith dropped to her knees instantly. "Micah? Can you hear me?"

"Yeah." Pressing the heels of his palms into the floor, he pushed himself up a little, trying not to look at the red stain he'd left on the wood beneath him. "Thanks."

"No problem. Sit here."

She'd never sounded so brisk, so afraid. With her help, he did as she said. His back appreciated the support of the wall far more than the barrel of a gun. Her right hand still clutched the bottle of antiseptic, he realised. She plucked free the loosened lid, tore off another scrap of her already ripped shirt, and set to work damping it with the fluid.

Further into the room, nearer to Corinne, Rivo was also shoved to the floor, though his captor kept a pistol aimed at his head. His eyes slid their way, though Micah couldn't tell what resided in his gaze. Raksey stood beside him, still hanging onto a shaking Jinx. He did his best to shoot them both a half-smile, hoping that might be somewhat reassuring.

It turned into a grimace as Lilith's wet cloth met his wound. A sting soon followed, lancing under his skin and trebling the stab in his middle. A whimper slipped free before he could catch it.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"Well then. Here they all are."

Each word twirled around him, tremoring out a song, alight with something almost pleasant. Almost. Trepidation lacing a shiver along his spine, he dragged his gaze in the direction of the newcomer's voice.

Khalida Rajan. He knew it without being told. Her coat was a deep, luxurious crimson, pleated edge fanning out around her thighs. She held herself with the poise of a dancer, her steps graceful, her hair twisted into a short ponytail that showed off the bright red stripe. Her eyes held none of the light her smile implied.

"It's nice to finally meet you all," she said. "I've heard a lot about you."

Her gaze rested on Micah for a moment. He tensed, somewhat glad for the thin haze pain cast over his fear, until she moved on to scan the others. The heels of her boots clipped the floor in a pattern just shy of a rhythm. Her brows shot up when she reached Jinx. "Except you. Have the heavens gifted me a second angel?"

Micah should have said something. He wanted to. But his jaw was dry of words, bittered only by the awful taste of continued guilt.

"Indeed," Raksey crowed, his features sharp with pride. He let go of Jinx, gesturing widely with his knife. "She slipped free of your subordinates stationed here, but I caught her hiding out with them. Pretty, isn't she?"

"Quite." Khalida captured Jinx's chin, lifting it in study. Her smile curved a touch wider. "Yes. What an unexpected thing magic is."

The pressure on Micah's wound suddenly vanished. He looked back to see Lilith shifting higher on her knees, determination drawing in her brows. "I need a bandage!"

Khalida's gaze snapped to them, her eyes briefly widening. Lilith cleared her throat. "For Micah. I need someone to fetch me a bandage." The splinters in her confidence weren't particularly well hidden, but she spoke loudly enough.

The shock vanished from Khalida's expression in an instant, replaced by her former smile. Releasing Jinx, she stepped back. "Of course. Eliza?"

The girl from before hurried up to her, presenting a white bundle. Her limp was pronounced enough for Micah to notice this time. As she slipped away, she passed Corinne, and his heart skipped a beat. Just in that moment, he was certain she was staring back.

Another blink, and her eyes were closed again. Intrigue and worry tangled in his stomach, begging her to look at him again. At least now he longed for her eye contact for a more significant reason than his own selfish desires.

He barely noticed Khalida approach until she blocked his view. Lilith tried to snatch the bandage from her, but it was jerked out of her reach. "Not to worry," Khalida said, polite and casual as if she was an old friend waving away a simple favour. "You can move aside. I'm happy to tend to poor Micah."

Lilith didn't budge. "You think I'm letting you touch him?"

An airy laugh drifted from Khalida. She waved a hand, and one of her men snatched Lilith's arm, ignoring her cry as he dragged her out of the way. "Lilith, I'm not going to hurt him," she said, as if the concept was preposterous. "Though I suppose it's understandable. Your scuffle with Kasper must have hindered your ability to trust."

She flinched, her hand drifting to touch her arm as the man released her. Fear finally bled into the glance she exchanged with Micah. Neither of them could do anything as Mistress Rajan knelt down before him, neat and precise, slowly unwinding the bandage with a smile still sitting with ease on her lips.

"I'm truly sorry about all this, Micah." She sounded eerily genuine. There was real, shimmering apology in her eyes. She moved closer, and he watched her, an odd kind of confusion tainting his thoughts.

But it couldn't be real. He shook his head, trying to clear it. "Then why are you doing it?"

She sighed, and he was sure her breath was cold as it tickled the hairs on his arm. Her fingers slid under his tunic's strap. He only dared breathe through his nose, inhaling and exhaling in rapid bursts, his skin crawling at the prick of her nails.

"Unfortunately," she murmured, "you gave me no other choice." Her other hand gripped the ripped hem of his tunic, easing it gently past his chest. "Not that this is your fault, of course. Corinne chose to fight me, and she's dragged you into her pointless war."

The tunic reached the top of his ribs, and she lifted his arm in order to ease it off. Stunned, he let her. Everything she did itched with distinct strangeness. Like it should be nice -- like he was wrong for thinking it wasn't -- and yet not sitting right regardless. He fumbled for the memory of Corinne's spite, the well-earned bitterness that coated every utterance of her former boss's name. The memory of Kasper's surety as he embarked upon a suicide mission instructed by that same name.

She's playing a game. A game was all about twisting reality, about tricks and lies. Corinne wouldn't want him to fall prey to Khalida's lies as she had in the past.

As she reached for his other arm, he jolted free of her grip. "It isn't pointless." The hard note to his voice surprised him. "She chose to fight you because she's good, and you're evil."

Her expression did little more than twitch. She tugged harder on his tunic, and he was forced to comply, though he shoved his arm through on his own and snatched the tunic from her the moment he was free of it. Ruined as it might be, it didn't belong in the hands of a human like her.

With a thoughtful hum, she plucked the bandage from where she'd laid it on the floor between them and laid the soft pad carefully over his wound. He tried not to wince, though every inch of him screamed to get as far away from her as possible.

"You've grown up in a world where such things are rather black and white, I'm guessing?" she mused. "I understand that, but you must see that things work differently here. Good and evil are abstract concepts. Is a person evil because they take the lives of others? But then is a person good if they take the life of an evil person?" She cocked her head, threading the bandage around his back, and Micah couldn't bring himself to breathe at all. "Who can tell? Raksey tells me you made an attempt to kill him, after all, and your kind are hailed as embodiments of virtue."

Unbidden, Micah's gaze leapt to Corinne. He bit his tongue, some selfish part of him praying that she was unconscious after all. He wasn't sure whether he wanted her to hear that part.

"Right?" Khalida hummed again. The bandage crossed over behind him, and she yanked it tight, the abrupt harshness of the action tripping a yelp from his lips. Without acknowledging it, she began wrapping again. "I think such questions can't be answered. We merely do the best we can with the hand life deals us. I've chosen to dedicate my existence to providing help to those that need it."

Micah gave his head another shake, his knuckles aching for how tightly he gripped his balled-up tunic. "You're not..." He inhaled sharply, wishing it all didn't hurt so much. It made it so hard to think. "You... you threaten people. People suffer because of you." He had to pin down the end of the statement to prevent it from lifting into a question. It was true. He believed his friends over her. Anyone over her. "That can't be helping. You can't be good."

Another cross of the bandage met at an angle that skimmed his ribs. "People need something to believe in, Micah," she said, her voice dropping low, her smile spiking. "They need to be led. They need order." She yanked on the bandage again, harder, jolting out a sharp stab of pain. The darkness in her eyes swarmed forth. "When you and your angels scarpered back to your safe house in the sky a century ago, the people lost that belief. I see no harm in replacing you with a family named Rajan and a serpent emblem."

She leaned back a little, and her expression brightened again, false as it was. She laughed, a tinkle of a sound. "But if you'll lend me a little help of your own, Micah, we can ensure that belief lasts forever."

His inhale felt like frost. So that was what she wanted.

He saw it in her eyes. The faintest star-lit sparkle there, for once twinkling with honesty. The way she sat too long on the word forever, drawing it out, like she was already imagining it as hers.

Even to these modern-day humans, it couldn't be any secret that angels lived long lives. It was not immortality -- everything came to an end eventually, Nerezza liked to say, even the greatest of power -- but a time large enough that it would seem like eternity compared to the fleeting life of a human. Micah was still very young compared to his seniors, and he'd already lost track of the number of years he'd lived for.

But that simple knowledge wasn't what gleamed in Khalida's eyes. She craved that eternity. Desperately.

She would stop at nothing to steal it for her own.

⋄┈┈┈⋄⋄✧♡✧⋄⋄┈┈┈⋄

Honestly I've lost my grip on the plot by now but hey, Khalida's having a good time vibing in the spotlight. It was fun getting into her head a little and catching a glimpse of her motivations.

Oh yeah and Micah may be shirtless now. Just a tiny bit. It's not his fault D:

- Pup