Page 1

I never thought I’d live in a world where wearing a watch could mean the difference between life and death.

Most people have an alarm set every ten minutes from five o’clock onwards. Each acts as a reminder of the impending curfew. It’s become near impossible to lose track of time. Between the hourly mass text alerts from the Angel Intelligence Agency and every’s personal alarms, if some doesn’t make it home, it’s typically because they’re dead.

It was hard to adjust to at first, but now the nightly routine has become mundane, as if the song that sings when the mechanisms tick over isn’t something new to this world. As if the world before never existed at all.

The sound of locks ticking over and sealing shut every window and door in the building rings through our apartment.

I turn the dial on the radio to drown out the reality of the new world. Every night at six o’clock and not a second later, each residence in the city shuts off to the world for their own protection. It’s a necessary evil, the only way we could find some normality. Some feeling of safety, however misguided it may be.

As usual, I’m tucked away in the kitchen, listening to the reruns radio station, which currently plays of my favourite songs. The melody floats over me while I dance and sing, every thought of curfew quickly slipping away.

The smell of marinara sauce fills the air, of our weekly meals on rotation. There’s not a lot of choice when it comes to food anymore.

Things are better here in the city now that they’ve built hydro farms to keep producing natural foods, but humanity hasn’t had the taste of meat since we shut our borders.

I haven’t been past the border of the city in over two years. There’s been no need since the lockdowns were introduced and we stopped fighting. I’ve heard rumours of how bad it still is out there, but nobody has seen it and lived to tell the tale.

When the remaining world leaders established the Angel Intelligence Agency and introduced the lockdown laws two years ago, it took time to adjust. Eventually I stopped thinking about what it was like before. It began to feel as if it had always been this way. As long as I tune out the lockdown at six, it just feels normal.

I hardly remember what it used to be like to go out at night. To go to bars and restaurants, or even just for a walk by the water. It feels like a whole other lifetime.

As I scream-sing along to the song in what can only be described as a dying cat–like pitch, Jeremy leans against the kitchen doorway, smirking at me with amusement. I ignore the very obvious look of pain on his face and continue to sing.

“This is really good stuff,”

he says. “We should record these moments so that we can remember the time before you became famous.”

Fighting off an eye-roll, I prowl towards him with a wooden spoon microph in hand, pointing at him with the other. “You’ll need that footage to remember me, because with that attitude, I’ll be leaving you behind.”

Standing in front of him now, I bring my finger up to his chest, tracing along his collarb lightly. Jeremy inhales a sharp breath and shudders, but the expression on his face never wavers.

I drop my hand and pretend the spoon is now a guitar, strumming it to the beat.

His low giggle tugs at my heartstrings. My favourite sound. The music fades, and I stop dancing to instead fling my arms around his neck.

His golden hair falls in short curls over his forehead, casting a boyish look over his face. He stands in the shadows, looking down at me with a wide grin, his long, dark lashes making the blue in his eyes more vibrant.

“You wouldn’t really leave this behind. You’d be so bored without me to make fun of.”

He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, but a golden strand falls in front of my eyes.

“You just make it so easy for me.”

I move my hands from his neck to his chest, his muscles flexing beneath my touch. For a moment, I lose myself in the man.

I’m dragged back to reality almost instantly as the music on the radio is interrupted by a familiar voice. “In hopeful pursuit of those lost after dark,”

the radio host begins, as he does every night at six-thirty.

I tear myself from Jeremy and the second of normalcy, quickly walking over to the counter where the radio sits. I flip my pen around my hand again and again while I wait.

“Ben Mumford, Sadie Smith, James Cromwell, Alma Munroe, Jared Hayes, Damien Adair.”

I scribble the names down quickly, jotting a number next to each of them.

I’ve always believed that a person’s name holds great meaning, that it’s like a window into the soul. Every night that I write down their names, I wonder if the people are worthy of them. I wonder if Damien is fierce, if he will be able to fight off the creatures of the night. I wonder if Alma is kind, if she has loved s who will grieve her inevitable death.

I wonder if any of them have felt a moment of hope in the past five years, or if they somehow knew they’d end up lost to the dark.

I will never forget the day the war began. It’s inked into my mind like a tattoo, as it is for every survivor.

The ground tore open, leaving scars across the world and causing seismic events. Tsunamis, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions – you name it and I can guarantee that it happened. Out of the cracks in the earth crawled terrifying creatures straight from hell, and from the sky fell men and women who looked like gods. Angels.

We held hope, if only for a moment. We thought the angels were here to save us. But they weren’t our saviours, and they’re certainly not our guardians.

Death and destruction followed. Cities fell. Those who didn’t die in the arrival ran for their lives. Daemons began to feed on humans, taking out a large portion of the population.

The angels didn’t actively hunt us at first, but they showed no care about collateral damage. As soon as we started to fight back, the winged gods started to kill us for sport. It was as if they were offended by our audacity to fight for survival, and in retaliation they killed any human who dared to enter their line of sight.

I can still see heads being ripped clean off bodies as a large, thistle-winged angel flew through the city, wreaking havoc. That’s when we knew we had no hope of winning this war.

After three years of enduring the destruction of our world, the remaining world leaders came to some sort of deal with the angels. The day would belong to the humans; the night would be left for the war between heaven and hell to continue. If a human was out after lockdown, they’d become fair game.

Luckily daemons are nocturnal, so there were no negotiations needed there. The angels reluctantly agreed – something about not wanting to have to restart the human population once the war was over. Essentially, they let us live due to laziness.

“If any of you are listening,”

says the voice on the radio, “those who love you want you to know that they will never stop looking for you. Stay safe after dark, every.”

I scan the list as the music resumes and the radio host’s voice fades away. Damien Adair: number ten thousand, five hundred and six. Ten thousand, five hundred and six people have g missing from our city in less than two years – though the hotline only started a year ago, which means that the real number is at least double.

I flick through the list, counting how many names have been crossed off as found. The ratio of lost to found is not in our favour, not even in the slightest.

“I don’t know why you do this every night.”

Jeremy slips his arms around my waist. “You can’t find every.”

I turn in his hold to face him. “Should I just not try instead?”

He lets out a soft sigh and places a gentle kiss on my forehead. “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

He gives me a soft smile. “Always so determined.”

My laugh is devoid of humour. “You mean stubborn?”

His thumb traces the line of my jaw. “You said it, not me.”

Jeremy has always had such a soft touch for a man who looks like a Viking. When we met, I thought he was going to be another egotistical douchebag who only cared about himself. The second he opened his mouth, I knew I was wrong. His selflessness is the reason I fell so quickly. He cares more about others than himself.

My hands find their way to his face and hook around his neck, pulling him in until our lips meet. I relish the sensation of the softness of his lips placing a tender kiss to mine. He's kissed me like a thousand this before, with such affection and love that it almost consumes me. Every time he does my stomach flutters and my fingers tingle. They move from his neck down his arms and then intertwine with his.

In moments like this it's like everything around us seems to fade away. There's nothing but the sound of my heart beating in my chest and his deep breaths in between kisses. We don't need to speak a word to each other to know what it means. I love you. We're safe behind these walls. We're together and that's all that matters. When his lips linger against mine I give up a little bit more of myself, slowly chipping away at the walls that barricaded me as a child.

When we eventually pull away and my eyes meet his, a soft smile plays on my lips. Worlds he makes me happy. It's a feeling I never truly get used to, something so foreign to me. I lean into him once more, wanting to savour every second of this feeling of peace before the chaos finds us again.

The piercing sound of ringing fills the room, tearing us away from each other. Cursing, I quickly reach for my ph. An image of Xavier messily devouring a hot dog fills the screen. I consider ignoring it and staying in the moment with the man I love.

“Answer it.”

Jeremy’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “Otherwise you’ll never hear the end of it.”

He smiles and squeezes my shoulder gently before walking back towards the kitchen.

I let out a short sigh and wait until Jeremy is out of earshot before I answer, “This better be good.”

“Amara?”

Xavier’s breaths are short and choppy as he pants into the ph.

I frown. Perhaps he didn’t call just to gossip about our day at work. “X? What’s going on?”

It sounds like he drops his ph, and for a moment all I can hear is a few muttered curses in the distance before the sound of fumbling. “You there, Mara?”

“Yeah, I’m here. What’s going on?”

He’s silent for so long that I worry I’ve lost him. As I start to ask if he’s still there, my words are cut off by his.

“They’re making us go back out in the field.”

As Jeremy makes me coffee and toast for breakfast like he always does, I stand at our wardrobe, staring at the Angel Intelligence Agency field uniform gathering dust. The uniforms were issued to us years ago when the curfew was announced in case the AIA needed field agents sent out after dark. After a few trial nights and dozens of missing agents, the after-hours program was quickly scrapped.

Every morning I stare at this uniform and wonder if I’ll have to wear it again, but today, the knowledge that it’s coming out of retirement looms over me.

Xavier couldn’t explain any further; he practically hung up on me two seconds after telling me that we’re going to be sent out after curfew again. That we’re essentially being sentenced to death. All he could say was that there have been some revelations and the world leaders have made their decision. That it’s out of his control.

Something has happened, I just don’t know what. They know that we can’t win this war – we can hardly even defend ourselves. So why else would they make this decision?

The patrol trial period led to a massacre of AIA agents, but there was survivor. Archer Kilpatrick.

Archer was found in an alleyway by the border of the city, holding his gun to his chest like a teddy bear and rocking back and forth. He was covered in blood, but it wasn’t his own.

Archer’s unit had stumbled into the midst of an angel battle, and after the angels had slain the daemons, they’d killed every last of his team. Except for Archer. They had left him alive as a message to the AIA: they are not our allies, and if we get in their way, we’re dead.

After that, we all became desk agents.

And Archer was found dead in his home, having taken his own life.

I’m not supposed to know any of this. I don’t have nearly enough clearance as an agent or even as a former specialist. The only reason I’ve been given a heads-up is because my best friend is the director of the AIA.

So instead of throwing on my field uniform and going straight into soldier mode, I pull out a pair of navy trousers and matching blazer. I pair it with a white button-up shirt and white heels.

It took me a while to get used to the corporate look. I was much more accustomed to heavy armour and military uniforms, but now there’s no need. Any would look at me on the street and think that I’m a lawyer, not a soldier.

I straighten my blazer and pull my chocolate-brown hair back into a sleek low bun. The dull golden streaks scattered through it shine brighter in the morning sun. Even though they match my eyes, I’ve been asked if they’re real so many times that I’ve lost count.

I lean in closer to the mirror and examine the rest of my face, tossing up whether or not to put any makeup on. My freckles are out in full force today, and I’d need quite a bit of foundation to cover them up.

“Worlds, I’m a lucky man.”

Jeremy leans against the bathroom doorway with a smile that spreads from ear to ear.

My eyes roll and I turn back to fuss with my hair in the mirror. “Some hand me a bucket, I’m gonna puke.”

Despite my constant rejection of his compliments, they still fill me with warmth. It’s a love that I’ve never experienced, a man who has devoted himself to me completely. A man who makes me feel completely at ease.

After Xavier ruined our moment of romance last night, I lied to Jeremy that I was exhausted and headed to bed. I can’t tell him what Xavier said, not until I know more. It will only make him worry.

Jeremy’s hands rest on either side of my waist and he tugs me in for a kiss. As he pulls away, he brings his hands up to trace the lines of my face. “What do you think things would be like for us if we weren’t living in this world?”

I flinch away from his touch, his question both surprising me and sending a twang of guilt through me. Jeremy and I never talk about things like that. We don’t dwell on the world before. And now that I’m being sent out into the field, there’s not likely to ever be a future.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

He tilts his head, his hands hovering next to my face before he drops them. “Do you think we’d get married?”

I step out of his hold and glance at my watch. I’m going to be late for work. Usually I wouldn’t care, but today is different. Today I need every second of extra training I can get, but I can’t say that to him.

I walk over to the bed and begin to throw items into my bag as if I’m in a rush. I laugh, but it comes out strained. “Where’s this coming from?”

Jeremy moves to stand behind me, but stops a few inches away. “It’s not a new thought, Amara. Putting a ring on your finger is the first thing I’d do if we weren’t in the midst of a war.”

He reaches out and places a hand on my shoulder.

I freeze, everything inside of me starting to shut down. My heart thumps and my skin grows cold.

I distance myself from him, skirting around to the other side of the bed. I can see a frown forming on his face, but I ignore it. “But we are in the midst of a war. One that’s not going to end anytime soon.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t imagine what it would be like if it did. That doesn’t mean I don’t wish things could be different for us.”

I shake my head. “I just don’t see the point in fantasising over something that will never happen.”

I love Jeremy, I do, but I’ve never thought about anything more than today. The word marriage coming from his lips doesn’t feel like a promise of eternal love, but rather a cage. I’ve never imagined our future and what it would look like; and now it fills me with an anxiety like no other. I just don’t know why.

Shadows cast over his eyes, making him appear tortured. “Because it can’t, or because you don’t want it to?”

The shadows seem to shift as he does, following his every move. His expression is sombre now, the realisation dawning on him at the same time that it does me.

Even if this wasn’t our reality, I wouldn’t marry him.