Page 21

THREADS UNRAVELING

SEAN

I watched as Cade's fingers flew over the keyboard of his phone, typing up the last details of our encounter with whatever-the-hell Edward Hayes had become.

His face was drawn with concentration, the blue light of the screen highlighting the dark circles under his eyes.

Sterling would want everything: locations, times, descriptions, how the guy's eyes had burned from the inside out. The whole bloody mess.

“You still sending reports to Sterling?” I asked, leaning against the Impala's hood. “Thought you left the CITD life behind.”

Cade didn't look up from his phone. “Force of habit,” he replied with a shrug. “Sterling was a stickler for immediate reports. 'Details fade with time,'” he mimicked the older hunter's gruff tone perfectly.

“Yeah, but you're not his employee anymore,” I pointed out. “You're not anybody's employee. We're free agents now, remember?”

Cade finally glanced up, a tired half-smile on his face. “Old habits. Besides, having Sterling in the loop might save our asses someday.”

“Case details sent,” he muttered, pocketing his phone. “The old man better appreciate this. I'm running on fumes here.”

Cassiel hovered nearby, watching our exchange with that unnervingly intense stare he hadn't dropped since we'd left the abandoned house. His head tilted slightly as he focused on Cade's phone.

“You are sending information... through the ether?” he asked, his voice gravely serious.

I glanced up at him, trying to gauge if he was joking. His face remained completely straight, eyes squinted in genuine confusion.

Cade huffed out a laugh as he slid into the driver's seat of the Impala. “It's called texting,” Cade said curtly. “Electronic communication.”

Cassiel's brow furrowed deeper, and he leaned closer to examine the phone in Cade's hand. “I was not aware the ether could be controlled by men.” His frown deepened, as if the device personally offended him. “Yet you hold it in your hand.”

I sighed, rubbing at my temples where a headache was building.

Between the revelation that I might not be entirely human, nearly getting killed by whatever was possessing Hayes, and now being stuck with an angel who didn't understand basic technology, this day was really going for the gold medal in the Worst Day Olympics.

“Cade,” I said, sliding into the passenger seat, “this thing doesn't even understand basic technology.”

Cassiel tilted his head even further, reminding me of a confused bird. “I am many thousands of years old. My knowledge spans the creation of stars and the death of civilizations.”

“Yeah, but you don't know what a cell phone is,” I pointed out, tucking mine into my jacket pocket.

“The affairs of humans are... numerous and often trivial,” Cassiel replied with apparent sincerity.

“Just get in the car,” I groaned, gesturing to the back seat. “Unless you want to zap yourself to... wherever it is angels go when they're not bothering humans.”

Cassiel stared at the car door for a long moment before awkwardly opening it and folding his too-stiff body into the back seat. “This vessel finds your mode of transportation... limiting.”

“Well, it's that or walking,” Cade replied tersely, starting the engine.

The angel fell silent, though his discomfort was palpable as Cade pulled away from the curb, leaving behind the abandoned house and its blood-soaked memories.

The ride was tense, to say the least. I stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past, trying to process everything Cassiel had told us. Nephilim. Half-angel. It was ridiculous, of course. Had to be. Just another supernatural creature trying to mess with our heads.

But the doubt lingered, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts like rats in the walls.

In the rearview mirror, I could see Cassiel sitting awkwardly in the back seat, his posture unnaturally straight, eyes fixed on the passing scenery with an intensity that suggested he was seeing things beyond the physical world.

He hadn't bothered with a seatbelt, which seemed fitting somehow.

What would a car crash matter to an angel?

“I find this method of travel...” Cassiel began, his deep voice breaking the silence, arms folded stiffly across his chest, “very slow.”

“Well, sorry we're not teleporting,” Cade muttered, taking a corner perhaps a bit sharper than necessary. “Some of us are stuck with human limitations.”

“I could transport us instantaneously,” Cassiel offered, completely serious. “Though the experience can be... unpleasant for humans. Your internal organs would feel compressed.”

“Hard pass,” I replied quickly. The idea of having my insides squeezed like a tube of toothpaste wasn't particularly appealing. “We'll stick with the car, thanks.” I glanced back at him, a smirk tugging at my lips despite everything.”What's the rush? Somewhere you need to be?”

Cassiel turned his gaze toward me, expression utterly unreadable, those ancient eyes seeming to look through me rather than at me. “I am exactly where I need to be.”

There was something in his tone that killed my burgeoning amusement, replacing it with an uneasy weight in my gut. Like he knew something we didn't. Something bad. But then again, that seemed to be the angel's whole schtick—cryptic warnings delivered with all the charm of a funeral director.

The rest of the drive passed in silence, broken only by the rumble of the car’s engine.

We pulled up to my warehouse on the edge of the industrial district.

I'd bought the place years ago when property values had tanked, converting the upper floor into a livable space while keeping the ground floor for storage, training, and the occasional impromptu shooting range.

The brick exterior was weathered and unremarkable, blending in with the other abandoned-looking buildings in the area.

But inside, it was home – the only real one I'd had since leaving the Byrnes.

Something felt off the moment we stopped. Lights were on inside. The security light above the side entrance, which we always kept off to avoid announcing our presence, was burning bright.

“Someone's inside,” I murmured, hand automatically moving to the gun tucked at my waist.

Cade tensed beside me, his own hand hovering near his weapon. “Sterling?”

“Maybe,” I replied, though Sterling rarely showed up unannounced. Too paranoid for that.

Cassiel didn't seem concerned. He simply opened his door and stepped out, studying the warehouse with mild curiosity. “There is no danger here,” he announced, as if that settled the matter.

I exchanged a glance with Cade. We'd survived this long by not taking anyone's word on what was or wasn't dangerous.

We approached cautiously, flanking the entrance. Old habits die hard. I took point, Cade covering my back as we entered, guns drawn despite Cassiel's assurance.

The moment we stepped inside, a familiar voice greeted us from the main living area. “Took you long enough.”

Sterling stood in the center of the room, arms crossed over his chest, a battered trucker cap pulled low over his eyes. His beard was a bit more gray than I remembered, and the lines around his eyes a bit deeper, but his stance was as solid as ever. Unmovable. Dependable.

But it wasn't Cade or me he was looking at. His gaze immediately locked onto Cassiel, who had followed us in with that same eerie calm, taking in the surroundings like an alien visitor cataloging a new planet.

“So,” Sterling exhaled, adjusting his glasses with one finger. “You're the angel.”

Cassiel stared at the older hunter for a long moment, his face utterly serious. Then, very solemnly, he replied: “This is a cat.”

I followed Cassiel's gaze to the floor, where Roxie had apparently decided to investigate our visitor.

She sat at Cassiel's feet, her wide blue eyes staring up at him with that imperious expression only cats can manage.

Cassiel was staring back with equal intensity, as if they were engaged in some sort of interspecies telepathic communication.

Sterling blinked. “What.”

The single word hung in the air, utterly inadequate to the absurdity of the situation.

Cade's face broke into a grin, the tension of the day finally finding release. “He means the actual cat, not you. Though, fitting.”

Sterling shot him a look that could have curdled milk. “Watch it, boy.”

Cassiel knelt down, inspecting Roxie as though she were some rare and fascinating specimen. He reached out one hesitant finger, touching her head with the careful precision of someone defusing a bomb.

“She is small, but I sense great power,” he declared with complete seriousness.

Roxie, for her part, seemed equally fascinated by the angel. She leaned into his touch, a loud purr rumbling from her tiny body.

I groaned, running a hand down my face. “I swear to god?—”

“He has nothing to do with this creature,” Cassiel interrupted, still focused entirely on the cat. “Though perhaps He should. This is a remarkable design. Perfectly balanced. Elegant. Far superior to many of His other creations.”

“It's just a cat,” I muttered, though I had to admit, it was somewhat amusing to see an eons-old celestial being utterly captivated by eight pounds of fur and attitude.

“There is no 'just' about her,” Cassiel replied, his tone gently reproving. “She exists in perfect harmony with her nature. Few beings achieve such alignment.”

Sterling cleared his throat loudly. “If you're done communing with the feline, we've got more pressing matters to discuss.”

Cassiel reluctantly rose to his feet, though Roxie followed him, weaving between his legs in a figure-eight pattern. The angel watched her movements with open fascination.

“Yeah,” I agreed, collapsing onto the worn sofa. “Like why you're here, and what the hell we're supposed to do now.”