The soft patter of rain had faded, leaving behind the scent of damp earth and the faint hum of the city outside. The apartment was quiet, wrapped in the kind of stillness that made every breath feel heavier.

Aera sat curled up on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, wrapped in Daon's oversized black shirt since her clothes were still drying. The fabric was soft and worn, and it smelled of him—sandalwood, rain, and something undeniably Daon.

She hated how comforting it was.

Daon, standing by the counter, arms crossed, watched her in silence. He hadn't spoken much since they'd come inside, but his eyes flickered downward, toward her wrist.

The Hell's Mark.

It pulsed faintly, a slow rhythm of ember-like light beneath her skin. It wasn't painful, not yet, but it was a reminder. A warning.

Daon exhaled, stepping closer. "You're burning up."

His fingers brushed over her forehead, cool against her heated skin.

Aera tensed at the contact. "I'm fine."

"You always say that," he muttered.

His touch drifted lower, skimming over her wrist where the mark lay. She didn't pull away, but her throat tightened.

Aera knew what he was thinking. He could feel it, just like she could—Hell was pulling at her again.

"Aera," Daon said, voice quieter now.

She lifted her gaze to his. The weight of it was unbearable.

"You don't have to go back," he murmured.

Her heart clenched.

But did she really have a choice?

Daon's fingers curled under her chin, tilting her face up until their foreheads nearly touched. His thumb ghosted over her cheek, light and deliberate.

"Stay," he whispered. "Just for a while. Just with me."

Aera's grip tightened in the fabric of his shirt.

"You're impossible," she breathed.

Daon's lips brushed against her temple. "And yet, you're still here."

She wanted to push him away. Wanted to break the moment before it swallowed her whole.

But she didn't.

Because for the first time in too long, she wasn't drowning.

The silence was broken by the sudden sound of something thumping across the floor.

Aera turned her head just in time to see a blur of fur racing past her—Atlas, the tiny ball of mischief, was at it again. And this time, he had Daon's coat.

Daon blinked. "Did he just—"

Aera let out a short laugh. "Oh, he's doing this on purpose."

Atlas, as if understanding her words, wagged his tail and ran faster, dragging the coat behind him like a trophy.

Aera shot up from the couch. "Atlas, you little—get back here!"

She chased him around the apartment, nearly tripping over the coffee table in the process. Atlas dodged effortlessly, weaving between furniture, his fluffy tail bouncing.

Daon, leaning casually against the kitchen counter, watched the scene with a smirk. "You know, you're not very graceful."

Aera shot him a glare. "Not helping!"

Just as Atlas leapt onto the couch, Aera lunged—but miscalculated.

She was expecting soft cushions.

Instead, she crashed into something solid.

Daon.

His arms instinctively wrapped around her as they tumbled backward. When they finally stopped moving, Aera found herself half-straddling him, her hands braced against his chest, his arms still firm around her waist.

Silence.

Daon arched an eyebrow. "Well, this is new."

Aera's face flushed instantly.

"Let. Me. Go."

She tried to push off, but Daon caught her wrist, his grip firm yet lazy, as if he wasn't trying to restrain her—just making sure she didn't escape too quickly.

"You're blushing," he murmured.

Aera's breath hitched. "I am not."

Daon's thumb brushed against her cheek, tracing the warmth there.

"You sure?" His voice was low now, teasing but smooth, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Aera stiffened.

Then, he did something completely unexpected.

He turned her wrist over, held it gently, and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her palm.

Aera had stopped working.

Daon smirked. He had won this round.

But then—a pulse of heat shot through her wrist.

Aera gasped, jerking her hand away as a faint glow flared up where Daon had just kissed her skin.

Daon's smirk faded instantly. His gaze darkened as he looked at the Hell's Mark, the glow now stronger.

The pull of Hell was growing.

And Daon knew what it meant.

He didn't say anything. Instead, he pulled her into him, arms wrapping around her tightly.

"Just a little longer," he murmured, pressing his lips into her hair.

Because for all the things he could fight, for all the battles he had won—he couldn't fight Hell itself and he wasn't ready to let her go.

Meanwhile, in Hell...

Bael's fingers tapped against the armrest of his throne, his expression unreadable. Hell's flames burned dimmer tonight, flickering with unease.

Aera was missing.

He had let it go at first—let Sable's flimsy excuses pass, let the silence stretch. But now? Now it was an inconvenience.

"Sable."

Sable, standing stiffly before him, barely resisted the urge to sigh. "Yes, my lord?"

Bael's red eyes glowed. "She's been gone for too long."

Sable forced a calm expression. "She needed time—"

"Time?" Bael leaned forward.

"Hell has never needed time. It needs order."

Sable swallowed. "She'll return."

Bael's gaze darkened. "You're sure?"

Sable hesitated. "...Yes."

Bael was silent for a moment before tilting his head. "And the pup?"

Sable stiffened. "The... pup?"

Bael's lips twitched in amusement. "Atlas. The tiny menace she insists on keeping. He's gone too, isn't he?"

Sable cleared his throat. "Uh—"

Bael sighed. "I want her found. And if she doesn't return soon..." His fingers curled against the armrest.

"Perhaps it's time I remind her where she truly belongs."

Sable's stomach twisted.

He needed to find Aera before Bael did.

Bitna already knew Aera was on Earth. And she was done waiting for answers.

Whatever divine power she had left, she was using it. The problem was... she wasn't the only one tracking Aera.

When Sable found her, Bitna didn't even bother looking up. She was standing on a temple rooftop, eyes glowing faintly as her fingers traced patterns in the air.

"That bad?" she asked.

Sable huffed. "Bael's starting to connect dots. He's sending scouts. And worse?" He hesitated.

"I think he suspects Daon."

Bitna's hands stilled. "...Then we don't have much time."

Justitia's voice was colder now. "Bael already suspects Daon. He's watching him. If he confirms Aera is with him—"

Sable stiffened. "She's not safe."

"Exactly." Justitia's eyes darkened.

"Bael won't just drag her back. He'll make her suffer for running. You know that."

Sable did know. And that's what terrified him.

He had spent centuries watching Bael break people—twisting them, warping them into something unrecognizable. He had done the same to Aera once, shaping her into his executioner. But now? If she was caught again after running?

Bael would ensure she never escaped a second time.

Justitia softened slightly, sensing his hesitation. "You care about her."

Sable didn't answer. He didn't need to.

Justitia sighed. "Bael sent scouts into the city tonight. He's disturbing the balance of this world just by being impatient. If this keeps up, Earth is going to feel Hell's presence."

Sable's hands curled into fists. "Damn it."

"We have to find her first," Justitia pressed. "Before Bael does. Before it's too late."

Sable nodded, his expression grim.

There was no more room for hesitation.

Aera found peace in Daon's apartment.

But the guilt wouldn't leave her.

She sat curled up on the couch, staring at her wrist. The glow had faded—but it wasn't gone.

She knew what it meant.

Her time here was running out.

"Daon," she said softly.

He looked up from where he sat on the floor, running his fingers through Atlas's fur. "Hmm?"

Aera hesitated.

"I... don't know if I can stay."

Daon's expression didn't change. He just leaned back, watching her. "Then don't."

Aera blinked. "What?"

"If you think you have to go, then go," he said, voice too calm. "But don't say you don't have a choice."

She frowned. "You don't understand. I have responsibilities. A duty."

Daon exhaled, pushing up from the floor. He stopped in front of her, hands braced on either side of the couch.

"You think I don't know that?" His voice was lower now, quieter, but firm.

"You have responsibilities, Aera," he said. "But you also have choices."

She swallowed hard.

Could she really stay?

Could she let herself want this—want him?

Aera hesitated.

Her heart wanted to stay.

Her mark said otherwise.

Daon leaned down, voice barely above a whisper.

"When the time comes... will you let Hell decide for you?"

Aera couldn't answer.

Because deep down, she didn't know.

And that terrified her the most.

Back in Hell, the flames burned brighter than usual, licking at the stone walls with restless hunger. Bael sat on his throne, his crimson eyes glowing with something between amusement and frustration.

At his feet, one of his scouts knelt, trembling.

"You're saying," Bael drawled, tapping a clawed finger against the armrest, "that you caught the scent of her but lost it?"

The demon flinched. "M-my lord, the traces were faint, but she is on Earth. And—"

"And?" Bael's voice was deceptively soft.

The demon hesitated. "There was interference. Someone is protecting her."

Silence.

Then, Bael laughed.

Low, dark, and full of something dangerous.

"Of course she's being protected," he murmured. "The real question is... for how much longer?"

He leaned forward, his grin sharp. "Send out more scouts. No more waiting." His fingers curled, flames sparking between them.

"If she refuses to come back..."

The fire flared, turning black.

"Then I'll burn everything she's hiding behind."