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“Exactly,” Hawk confirmed. “Consent matters, especially with beings of celestial origin.”

Hawk turned another page in the journal, revealing a map that looked more like an astronomical chart than any earthly geography. Points of light connected by faded lines, annotations in a language I didn't recognize.

“It's been hidden for a long time. No one's supposed to know where it is.” Hawk's voice dropped lower, as if concerned about being overheard despite the privacy of our location. “The heart was entrusted to guardians—humans with specific bloodlines,sworn to protect it at all costs. They move it regularly, following patterns only they understand.”

His finger traced a path across the strange map. “But if the others knew about the seals, you can bet they're looking for it. And they're closer than they should be.”

“How do you know that?” Sean asked, skepticism edging his tone.

Hawk's mouth twisted in what might have been a grimace. “Because two guardian families have been slaughtered in the past month. Professional hits.”

Families, not just individuals. Children, elderly, innocents whose only crime was being born into a legacy they never chose. The kind of collateral damage that made bile rise in the back of my throat—or would have, if I could feel properly.

“So we're not just trying to protect the seal,” Sean said, verbalizing what we were all thinking. “We're racing to secure a potential weapon.”

Hawk inclined his head in acknowledgment. “The heart doesn't just keep the First Nephilim imprisoned. It's... connected to him, somehow. Part of him, perhaps.”

I frowned. “How is an angel's heart part of a Nephilim? They're fundamentally different beings.”

“That,” Hawk said grimly, “is the question that's kept me awake for the past decade. The texts aren't clear. Some suggest the Fallen was related to the First Nephilim. Others imply a more complex connection—mentor, perhaps, or creator.”

The possibilities spiraled outward, each more unsettling than the last. The mythology we were dealing with predated most written records, existing primarily in fragments of oral tradition and esoteric texts of questionable origin. The truth was buried beneath layers of symbolism, translation errors, and deliberate obfuscation by those who understood the danger of such knowledge becoming commonplace.

My stomach twisted with a shadow of the anxiety I should be feeling. “Do you have a lead?” The question was practical, focused. Whatever the heart's true nature, whatever its connection to the First Nephilim, we needed to find it before Asmodeus did.

Hawk hesitated, his eyes darting briefly to the door as if checking for eavesdroppers. Then he reached into his jacket again, this time extracting a small, round object wrapped in cloth stained with sigils of protection.

“I have better than a lead,” he said, carefully unwrapping the object. “I have a compass.”

The item revealed was not a compass in the traditional sense. It resembled a pocket watch, but where the face should have been, there was instead a complex mechanism of gears surrounding what appeared to be a small vial of swirling, luminescent liquid—blood, but not entirely human.

“Angel blood?” I asked, unable to hide my surprise.

Hawk nodded. “Mixed with guardian blood. It responds to proximity to the heart. The closer we get, the brighter it glows.” He tilted the device slightly, demonstrating how the liquid shifted, emitting a faint blue phosphorescence. “Right now, it's dormant. But it's been fluctuating over the past week—suggesting the heart is in motion again.”

“Someone's moving it,” Sean concluded. “The remaining guardians?”

“Or Asmodeus,” Hawk countered grimly. “We won't know until we track it down.”

“When do we move?”

He leaned over the largest map, studying the possible locations. “Give me a couple of days to narrow it down. My contacts are working on it.”

The request seemed reasonable on the surface. Rushing in blind was a good way to get killed, especially when dealingwith something as significant as the final seal. But beneath the logical caution, I sensed something else—hesitation, perhaps. Or a reluctance to share everything he knew.

Sean scoffed, the sound sharp with disbelief. “A couple of days?” His voice rose with incredulity, frustration breaking through his professional demeanor. “People are dying. We don't have that kind of time.”

He jabbed a finger at the map, at the crossed-out locations of the four broken seals. “Every day we wait is another day Asmodeus gets closer. Another day the barriers between worlds get thinner.”

The tension that had simmered between us earlier boiled over into this new target. Sean's anger had found a focus—not just at my callousness, but at the entire situation. At the seeming lack of urgency in the face of impending catastrophe.

“The longer we wait, the more likely innocent people die,” Sean continued, voice hardening. “Guardian families are being slaughtered while we stand around talking.”

“You think I don't know that?” Hawk snapped back, a sudden crack in his composed exterior. For the first time, raw emotion bled through—anger, frustration, perhaps even grief. “You think I haven't been watching these seals break one by one? You think I haven't counted the bodies?”

He slammed a hand down on the table, the impact causing the maps to jump. “I don't pull magic answers out of my ass, Cullen. These things take time. One wrong move, and we lose everything.”

The outburst was brief but revealing. Whatever Hawk's connection to this mission, it wasn't merely professional. There was something personal at stake for him—something that made the delays as painful for him as they were for Sean, despite his insistence on caution.