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“Not metaphorical,” Hawk added, his finger tracing the illustration.

“An actual, physical heart, removed from the vessel of an angel who chose to fall from grace. The ultimate sacrifice—a being of pure celestial energy willingly becoming mortal, then giving up that mortality to create the final seal.”

The concept was staggering in its implications. From what little we'd learned about angels, they existed on a completely different level than humans. For one to somehow become mortal enough to possess a physical heart, to die a mortal death... I could only imagine what that would require.

Sean tensed beside me, his hunter's mind already calculating angles, strategies, potential weaknesses. “A literal heart?” The question was pointed, seeking confirmation before we proceeded. Sean had always been meticulous in his approach to hunting—no assumptions, no room for misinterpretation.

Hawk nodded, the movement sharp and decisive.

“Yes. When angels fall—truly fall, not just rebel—they become almost human. They develop physical forms, organs, vulnerabilities. They can bleed, feel pain, die.” His voice had taken on an almost academic quality, reciting facts learned through study rather than personal observation.

“And someone... harvested this heart?” Sean's voice carried a mix of disgust and grim acceptance. In our line of work, the macabre was commonplace, but this crossed into new territory.

“Not harvested,” Hawk corrected. “Offered. The angel knew what they were doing. Willing sacrifice is fundamentally different from forced extraction. It changes the metaphysical properties of the object.”

“Like virgin's blood versus regular blood in certain rituals,” I supplied, earning a surprised glance from Hawk.

“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 dealing with 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.

“I've got people risking their lives to narrow down the heart's location,” Hawk continued, voice lowered but still intense. “People I've known for decades. So spare me the lecture on urgency.”

Sean took a step forward, jaw clenched, eyes burning with the particular fury of a hunter who has seen too much death, too much loss. His hand came to rest on the table's edge, knuckles white with tension.

“We need to know now—” He leaned in, the movement aggressive, confrontational. Whatever he was about to say next would likely escalate the situation beyond repair.

The atmosphere in the room had shifted from professional disagreement to something more volatile. Two hunters with different approaches but equally valid concerns, both pushed to the edge by the stakes of their mission. It was a powder keg waiting for a spark.

I put a hand on Sean's arm, stopping him. The touch was light but firm, a silent message understood through the months we'd worked together. Enough.

Sean's nostrils flared, his breath coming quick and shallow with the effort of containing his frustration.

For a moment, it seemed he might shrug off my restraint.

Then, gradually, the tension in his muscles eased slightly.

He exhaled sharply and turned away from Hawk, creating physical distance to cool the heated moment.

I met Hawk's eyes briefly, a silent acknowledgment passing between us. The crisis was averted for now, but the underlying issue remained. Time was our enemy as much as Asmodeus, and the balance between caution and action was a razor's edge we were all walking.

“A couple of days,” I said, not a question but a statement. A deadline. “Then we move, with whatever information we have.”

Hawk studied me for a moment, then nodded once. Agreement reached, for better or worse.

As Sean moved toward the door, Hawk lingered, his weathered face uncharacteristically hesitant. “There's something else, Cade.”

I paused, sensing the weight behind his words. “About the mission?”

“About your father.” Hawk's voice softened, something I hadn't thought possible from the hardened hunter. “Richard and I... we weren't just colleagues. Your parents were the closest thing to friends I ever had.”

Sean glanced between us before quietly stepping outside, giving us privacy.

“Sterling mentioned you knew him,” I said carefully.