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Evander’s brows drew a hard line across his face. “Even one is one too many.”

The sadness coiled inside me, settling heavy and deep. My cheeks flushed with that stupid dry heat that pulsed behind my eyes and made them ache. Slumping against the desk, I let my head drop and muttered, “Moira isn’t the one I would’ve picked. Just so you know.”

“I know,” Evander replied.

I was looking down, staring at the bowling shoes I’d incidentally stolen, when a glistening droplet landed on the laces. Snapping straight, I pressed my fingertips to my eyes and brought them back wet.

“I’m crying?” I asked. Maybe the angel, maybe the universe. But the answer was as plain as the glitter on my skin.

Evander looked on blankly, and I wanted to shake him.

“No, like really crying,” I insisted. “Real tears…”

Raising my hand to the natural light spilling through the window, I marveled at the moisture. They were still flowing, dampening my cheeks, and the feeling spurred me into motion.

“Do you have a jar?” I asked the angel. “Glass? Bottle?”

Without waiting for his response, I rounded the desk and shoved Evander aside to gain access to the drawers. I ripped them open one, finding hanging files in the first and office supplies in the second. Then it was all paperclips, and rubber bands, and staples, and I was about to dump every bit of it out of the plastic organizer then hang my face over that.

“If I get enough of these, Loren can have them,” I rambled. “He can come with me. I can save him…”

Evander stopped me with the tray in my grasp, and I fixed him with legitimately teary eyes.

“If you return to Earth, you will be taken by the demons, and you will be killed,” the angel said with mounting fervor. “Lorenzo chose to give you this chance. I would advise you take it. Give his death meaning.”

Snatching the tray from his grip, I upended it, scattering pens and spools of correction tape across the floor. I hugged the organizer to my chest, fully prepared to catch every teardrop that fell in one of its divided dishes and not caring how absurd I looked doing so.

“Hislifehas meaning!Hehas meaning,” I insisted, straining till my voice broke and the last words tumbled out. “To me.”

The flow had slowed, maybe stopped, and I couldn’t bear the thought of that. A few measly tears were not enough to serve my purpose. I needed so much more, but I was too frantic to be sad. Too desperate and fucking deranged, backing away from the angel and the mess I’d made until I felt thoroughly cornered despite that Evander had not moved.

He stood amidst the scattered office supplies, unfazed. “The souls who ascend,” he began, “the ones you cleanse. What do you think happens to them?”

My chest heaved with shuddering breaths. “I dunno… Wings? White robes? Halos?”

Evander frowned and gestured to himself, illuminating the fact that he was missing all of those things.

I scoffed in response to his unspoken protest. “I saw your wings at the bowling alley.”

“Because I’m an angel,” he said flatly. “Other souls, like Moira?—“

“And Loren?” I cut in, and he nodded.

“Let me show you.”

Walking forward, Evander held out his hand to take the plastic tray I clutched. The bead of liquid in the spot that previously held pushpins was just that. A drop. A speck that would evaporate as quickly as it had formed. And my eyes were dry again. Whatever scrap of heavenly power I’d managed to channel had slipped away and left me grasping. But I wasn’t ready to give up.

“Wait,” I told Evander. “Really fucking wait. I don’t have time for a guided tour. You said the hounds were coming?—”

“Loren isfine.” The angel sounded exasperated enough he might have thought I didn’t hear his mumbled addition of, “For now.”

I did hear, though, and shot him a sour look.

The angel’s waiting hand turned up and out, signaling me to stop before I began.

“Even if he wasn’t,” he continued, “there’s nothing you can do to aid him in your current state.”

“What about myfuturestate?” I asked.