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“The bar?” Sterling clarified, already reaching for his own weapon.

“Yes,” Cassiel confirmed. “A lot of them.”

“Shit,” Sean muttered. “Juno's there.”

Hawk stood abruptly, moving to a large duffle bag propped against the wall. “Good thing I brought presents,” he said, unzipping it to reveal an arsenal that would have impressed any hunter. He pulled out a set of dual silver blades, wickedly sharp and intricately carved with symbols I recognized as ancient demon wards. “These are for you, Cross,” he said, tossing them to me.

I caught them by the hilts, the weight perfectly balanced in my hands. They felt right, familiar, despite never having wielded them before.

Hawk continued distributing weapons, passing Sean an ornate Colt revolver. “Special bullets,” he explained. “Not quite the Colt from the legends, but it'll put down most anything supernatural with a well-placed shot.”

As everyone armed themselves, Sean pulled me aside, away from the others. His eyes searched my face, concern evident. “Are you sure you're okay?”

I hesitated, weighing the necessity of honesty against the urgency of the situation. “I feel... off,” I admitted finally.

Sean's expression tightened, worry giving way to something closer to fear. “Cade...”

“I know,” I said, cutting him off. “Bad timing. But I'm functional. I can do this.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, to press the issue, but Hawk called out that he was ready. Finally, Sean exhaled deeply. “We'll talk after this. I promise. Just... be careful, yeah?”

I nodded, trying to ignore the growing discomfort spreading through my chest. Whatever was happening to me would have to wait. There were demons to deal with first.

I spun the silver blades Hawk had given me, getting a feel for them. They hummed slightly as they cut through the air, the runes glowing faintly in the dim light of the war room. There was power in them, old magic worked into the metal itself. I wondered briefly where Hawk had acquired such weapons, but now wasn't the time for questions.

Around me, the final preparations created a symphony of tactical readiness. The click of magazines being loaded, the soft scrape of blades being sharpened, the rustle of gear being adjusted.

Sean loaded his Colt, the click of the cylinder unnaturally loud in the tense silence. His movements were practiced, almost meditative. The familiar sounds should have been comforting, but instead, they only heightened the sense that we were heading into something worse than our usual hunts.

As I tucked the blades into the specially designed sheaths at my sides, I caught a faint pulse of... not quite pain, but wrongness in my chest. The mark seemed to throb in time withmy heartbeat, a hot point of discomfort that was spreading throughout my body. I took a deep breath, trying to center myself.

Glancing up, I caught Sean watching me closely, that worried furrow between his brows that always appeared when he was trying to hide how concerned he was. Cassiel, too, was staring at me with an intensity that was unsettling, even for an angel.

“What?” I snapped, more harshly than I'd intended.

Cassiel shook his head, but his expression remained troubled. “You seem... different,” he said carefully. “The soul reintegration should have stabilized by now.”

“I'm fine,” I insisted, though the persistent throb in my chest suggested otherwise.

“Be careful,” Cassiel said quietly, moving closer to me. “If you feel... different during the fight. If something calls to you—don't answer.”

I frowned, a chill running down my spine despite the warmth of the room. “What the hell does that mean?”

Cassiel hesitated, his gaze darting briefly to Sean before returning to me. “The soul vial... it wasn't just containing your soul. It was containing everything that happened to it in Hell.”

“You're saying I brought back more than just my soul?” The implication made my stomach churn.

“I'm saying... be careful,” Cassiel repeated. “Demons can sense weakness, vulnerability. They will try to exploit any crack they find.”

That was not comforting in the slightest.

Sean approached, placing a hand on my arm. The touch was warm, grounding, momentarily drowning out the uncomfortable pulsing beneath my skin. “We'll handle this,” he said firmly. “Then we figure out the rest.”

I nodded, forcing down the unease. Now wasn't the time for existential crises or supernatural medical issues. People were in danger. Juno was in danger. That had to take priority.

Hawk approached from the corner where he'd been studying the ancient text Sterling had provided. His weathered face was set in grim determination as he tucked the book inside his jacket.

“Sterling and I are staying back,” he announced, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Someone needs to monitor the seal's energy signature in case Asmodeus tries something while you're occupied at the bar.”