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“An inclination,” I repeated, a hint of my earlier frustration returning. “What the hell does that mean?”

Cassiel's expression didn't change, but something shifted in his posture—a subtle tensing, as if bracing himself.

“Every angel I spoke to told me the same thing,” he said instead of directly answering.

His gaze lifted skyward, toward the stars barely visible through the thin cloud cover and city light pollution. The gesture seemed both calculating and nostalgic, as if he were remembering conversations with beings who existed beyond mortal perception.

“I've consulted with those who remember the First Nephilim's binding,” Cassiel continued, his voice taking on a somber quality. “Those who were present when the seals were created, who understood the price that would be paid if they ever broke.”

I took an aggressive step forward, entering Cassiel's personal space. “Stop dancing around it. Tell me what they said about Cade.”

Cassiel regarded me with that peculiar stillness that reminded me that despite the human vessel, I was facing a being of incomprehensible age and power.

“I need Cade here,” he said, shaking his head. The moonlight caught on his features in a way that emphasized his otherworldliness.

There was something in his hesitation that raised my hackles, a careful precision to his words that suggested he was navigating dangerous territory. Angels didn't usually display such caution.

“Is it fixable?” I pressed, voice dropping lower. “Whatever's wrong with him—can it be fixed?”

Cassiel's silence was answer enough.

I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair. “Well, he's not. Off doing God knows what.” Frustration colored my words, edged with the ever-present fear I tried to keep buried.

Cassiel's gaze turned skyward again, tracing constellations. “He will return. The mark draws him back to you, even if he doesn't recognize it.”

The certainty in the angel's voice was both comforting and disturbing. How much did Cassiel know about the connection between us that he wasn't sharing?

“The Fourth Seal is broken,” I muttered, watching for a reaction. The statement was casual but calculated—a test to see how much Cassiel knew, how honest he was being.

The alley lights flickered overhead, as if responding to the weight of those words. Four seals down. Just one left between reality as we knew it and whatever catastrophe awaited.

Cassiel's jaw tensed, a slight movement that would be imperceptible to anyone who wasn't watching for it. “I know.”

No surprise. No shock. Just calm acknowledgment of information he should have had no way of knowing unless?—

“You knew? Before it happened?” I frowned, suspicion crystallizing into certainty. The question hung between us, heavy with implication. If Cassiel had known the fourth seal would break and hadn't warned us, hadn't helped us prevent it—the betrayal stung more than I wanted to admit.

Cassiel nodded, meeting my accusatory stare without flinching. “That's part of why I left. I knew it was going to break. I had to try and stop Asmodeus before it was too late.”

His voice carried no defensiveness, just the matter-of-fact tone of someone stating an obvious truth. Of course he had tried to stop it. What else would he have done?

But he hadn't stopped it. The fourth seal was broken. Asmodeus was one step closer to freeing the First Nephilim. The words “but I was too late” hung unspoken between us, an admission Cassiel wouldn't voice but I heard clearly anyway.

The angel's shoulders carried a subtle tension that hadn't been there before, a weariness that seemed at odds with his celestial nature. For the first time, I considered that maybe Cassiel was fighting a losing battle—had been fighting it long before any of us became involved.

The thought was far from comforting.

“You should've told us,” I snapped, the fragile thread of my patience finally breaking. “We could've helped. Could've done something—anything—instead of sitting on our arses while another seal broke.”

My voice rose despite my attempt to control it, echoing slightly in the empty alley. A distant window light flickered on in one of the buildings across the way, someone disturbed by the raised voice.

“And what would you have done, Sean?” Cassiel's voice remained measured but firm, a contrast to my barely contained fury. “This was beyond you. Beyond any human intervention.”

There was no condescension in the statement, just the cold assessment of someone who understood exactly what we were up against. The fourth seal had been guarded by ancient wards, by defenses crafted by beings beyond human comprehension. What could I, Cade, or any hunter have really done?

I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms. The physical pain was grounding, helped me focus through the haze of anger and fear threatening to overwhelm me.

“We're in this together,” I said, each word deliberate and weighted. “You don't get to disappear and make decisions on your own. Not anymore.”

The demand was clear—no more secrets, no more solo missions, no more angelic superiority complex keeping us in the dark while the world teetered on the brink.

Cassiel's gaze flickered, something almost like regret crossing his face. The expression was gone so quickly I might have imagined it, but the angel's next words confirmed what I'd seen.

“You're right.”

The simple admission hung in the air between us, unexpected and significant.

From what little I knew of Cassiel, he wasn't one for acknowledging human perspectives or accepting criticism.

The concession represented a shift in Cassiel's approach, perhaps even in how he viewed his role in our alliance.

I exhaled sharply, some of the tension draining from my shoulders. “Damn right I am.”

It wasn't forgiveness, exactly, but it was acknowledgment. A step toward the kind of partnership we would need if we had any hope of stopping what was coming.

“The stakes are too high for division among us,” Cassiel said. “I see that now.”

The angel's expression hardened suddenly, his eyes taking on that distant look they got when he was focusing on something beyond human perception.

“I need to confirm something,” he said, his tone becoming more formal, more angelic.

I frowned, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up in warning. “What?”

Cassiel stepped closer, rolling up his sleeves in a surprisingly human gesture. The dim alley lights caught on his forearms, highlighting the lean muscle beneath pale skin.

“We need to examine Cade when he returns,” he said. “He may resist what I need to do.”

A cold wind whipped through the alley, cutting straight through my jacket. I shivered, glancing at the warehouse door.

“Let's take this inside,” I muttered, rubbing my arms. “It's getting chilly out here, and I don't feel like freezing my ass off while we wait for Cade.”

Cassiel nodded, following me as I pushed open the rusty metal door leading to the warehouse's main floor. The interior wasn't much warmer, but at least we were out of the wind. The concrete floor stretched out before us, our footsteps echoing in the vast space.

“So what exactly are you planning to do to Cade?” I asked, leaning against a support column.

“I need to confirm what I suspect,” Cassiel replied cryptically. “When he arrives, I'll need your help. He won't like it.”

My stomach twisted with foreboding. “Cassiel, whatever you're thinking of doing?—”

The sound of the side door opening interrupted me. Cade walked in casually, his boots echoing against the concrete floor. He looked mildly irritated, as if being summoned by an angel was an inconvenience rather than something extraordinary.

“Alright,” he said, shutting the door behind him. “What's going on?”

Cassiel and I exchanged a look. He nodded almost imperceptibly: Now.

Cassiel moved with inhuman speed, crossing the space between them. Before Cade could react, I grabbed his arms from behind, locking them in place with a hunter's practiced precision.

The betrayal in Cade's eyes hit me like a intensely, but I maintained my grip. Whatever Cassiel needed to do, it had to be necessary, or I couldn't have lived with myself.

“What the hell?” Cade growled, trying to wrench free. “Get off me!”

I tightened my grip, using my slightly larger frame to its full advantage. “Just hold still,” I muttered.

Cassiel didn't wait for Cade's compliance. His hand plunged through Cade's chest, not breaking skin or drawing blood, but phasing through physical matter in a way that defied natural law. Light emanated from the point of contact, casting eerie shadows across the warehouse.

Cade's body went rigid in my grasp, a silent scream frozen on his face. His eyes widened with shock and something deeper—recognition, perhaps, of what Cassiel was searching for.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. The warehouse seemed to hold its breath, waiting.

The examination couldn't have lasted more than seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Cade gasped, his body arching in my arms, a sound of pure anguish escaping his lips—the most genuine emotional response I'd heard from him since his return.

Cassiel's expression remained focused, clinical, as his hand moved within Cade's chest cavity, searching for something that should have been there. The light pulsed brighter, then dimmer, then faded entirely.

Then, Cassiel pulled his hand back, the movement smooth and practiced. The look on his face told me everything I needed to know before the angel even spoke.

“Just as I feared,” Cassiel said, his voice heavy with certainty. “Cade doesn't have his soul.”

I'd suspected something was fundamentally wrong, but hearing it confirmed by an angel made it real in a way that terrified me.

I swallowed hard, still supporting Cade's weight as his legs threatened to give out beneath him. “What?” The question emerged strangled, fear making my voice unrecognizable even to my own ears.

Cade's breathing was ragged, the experience clearly having affected him physically even if the emotional impact was dulled by his condition. His skin felt cold beneath my hands, clammy with shock.

Cassiel's voice was quiet but clear, each word precise and devastating. “Cade doesn't have his soul.”

A soul. The essence of a person, the core of their being, the source of their humanity. Gone.

The words hit like a punch to the chest, stealing my breath. Everything suddenly made terrible sense—Cade's emotional detachment, his lack of hesitation when killing, the absence of the moral compass that had once defined him.

He wasn't broken or traumatized or changed by hell. He was incomplete. Fundamental pieces of him were missing.

Cade looked between us, still breathing hard from the invasive examination. “...What?” His voice held confusion but not the horror the statement deserved—further evidence of the diagnosis.

He straightened slowly, pulling away from my supporting grip. “That's not possible. I'm here. I'm me.” But the protest lacked conviction, as if even Cade recognized the hollowness of his words.

I could only stare at him, seeing Cade—truly seeing him—for the first time since his return. The subtle wrongness I'd been noticing all along, the nagging sense that something fundamental had changed—it wasn't my imagination or paranoia.

Cade was hollow. The body had returned from hell, but the soul—the essence that made him Cade Cross—was still missing.

And in that moment of clarity, I faced the most terrifying question of all: if Cade's soul wasn't in his body, where was it? And what would it take to get it back?