Her fourth-floor apartment was too quiet. The usual muffled bass from her neighbors, the random creak of pipes - gone. Even the dark felt heavier tonight. Too dark.

Sera curled into the sofa's corner, knees to her chest, a throw pillow crushed against her stomach like a shield. The fridge hummed. Her heartbeat thudded loudly, the rushing blood, sounded like crashing waves in her ears.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Futile. The night replayed anyway. Dave's eyes - blank and wrong. Tucker's knife flashing under the streetlight. And him.

The man. No, not a man. A demon-angel with eyes that burned like frost and fire at once. Zephariel.

Her breath caught. If I didn't see it... if I imagined it... then I'm already unraveling. Just like her.

Her phone burned in her hand. Lindsey would tell her she was being dramatic, that she needed sleep. Mack, though—Mack would understand.

I don't want to be alone. Can you come over?

Send. She had told him she was okay, fine actually. But her nerves were raw, and her sanity was on the line.

His reply was instant. Be there in a jiff.

Her chest loosened, but only barely. Mack had keys to her building and apartment, had insisted on them some time ago. Fatherly, protective. Tonight, she wasn't too proud to need it.

Minutes later, boots pounded up the stairs. A rap. Then the lock clicked and he filled the doorway. Broad shoulders. Steady eyes. Knife clipped to his belt like it belonged there. Similar to the knife she'd seen earlier. A shiver cut down her spine. When did Mack start carrying a knife, especially such a large one?

Her stomach lurched. When did Mack start carrying a knife? Was she even safe with him? And wasn't paranoia the first step into the abyss for her mother too?

He glanced at her face, then the dark room, and flicked on a lamp. Shadows stretched like claws across the walls.

"Jesus," he muttered. "You look like hell."

A laugh scraped out of her throat. "Thanks. Just what I needed."

He didn't smile. He never wasted effort on lies. He scanned corners like he always did—like danger might spring from the furniture. She'd never noticed until now. Always watching. Always mentally armed, but tonight, he was truly armed. Did he sense the same danger she did? Or was he appeasing her delirium, just as she used to do for her mother?

"What happened?" His voice was rough, but not unkind.

"Everything," she whispered. Then softer: "Nothing. I don't even know anymore."

He shut the door and came closer, patient as if silence itself were an invitation. It cracked her quicker than questions could.

"Can you lock it?"

"I did, darling. You're safe. Nothing's getting through me." His features softened as he lowered himself beside her.

Her body sagged, but the words broke free. "I can't sit here. Not alone."

"Then don't. I'll stay. Or..." his gaze weighed her, "you come back to the bar with me. Tucker and I are talking with Dave. Trying to piece this out."

Her head snapped up. "Dave's there?"

"Yes. But I won't let him near you. You have my word."

I'll protect you. You don't need this old man. He can't save you from the forces coming. She felt the words more than she heard them. They filled her with warmth and a strange sense of building courage. She studied Mack's face. He hadn't heard the voice. She dropped the pillow to the floor and leaned forward.

Her words were whisper thin. "I think I'm going insane. Just like my mother."

Mack shook his head slowly, steady as stone. "No, sweetheart. What happened was real. Tucker saw it too. You're not insane."

Her pulse skipped. Tucker saw. Yes, that's right. He saw Zephariel too. Didn't he? "What's Tucker saying?"

"Come back with me. We'll discuss it." His hand brushed her hair from her forehead. Gentle. Too gentle. He thought she was fragile, just like her mother had been.

She trembled. But nodded, stifling the rising fear "Take me to the bar. I need to see them both."

He didn't argue. Just fetched her jacket from the closet and wrapped it around her, his arm strong across her shoulders. The case was taking a sharp turn. He hadn't expected to explain demon possession to Sera, especially so quickly after Tucker arrived.

Moments later, they entered the bar. It stank of stale beer and bleach. Closed, but not empty.

Dave slouched at a corner table, hands trembling over a glass of untouched water. His face looked hollowed out, sick. When he saw her, he lurched up. "Sera, I'm so sorry—"

"Sit back down," Mack barked.

Dave sank into his chair, eyes fixed on her. "Please. Don't look at me like that. I don't remember what happened."

Anger surged. "You cornered me, Dave. Don't tell me you don't remember."

His hands scrubbed over his temples. "I blacked out. Tucker jumped me. That's all I know."

Her jaw clenched. Liar. Or dreamer lost in his own fog. The way my mother used to stare through me, lost in a world only she could see. Maybe Dave was the one going insane, not her.

A sound from the back caught her attention. Tucker emerged. Shoulders squared. Eyes scanning, landing on her with that unreadable calm.

Her voice shook, but she forced it: "What the hell were you doing with that barbaric knife? Were you planning to kill Dave?"

Dave stiffened and whipped his stare at Tucker. "Kill me? You tried to kill me?"

Tucker's gaze didn't waver. "Sometimes you don't get a choice."

"That's not an answer." Her arms folded tight across her chest. "Why so quick to kill him?"

"It's what was inside him." He lifted a hand toward Dave, palm open. "Nothing personal."

Dave's voice cracked. "Hey, I'm just glad you got that demon thing out of me."

The word demon sank into her gut like lead. She collapsed into a chair, fingers gripping the table to keep from floating into the madness.

Mack's hand pressed her shoulder, grounding her. "He's telling the truth, Sera."

Her throat scraped dry. They were all insane. Or she was. This is it. This is how it starts—the unraveling, the whispers, the monsters only she can see.

Finally, the question clawed out. "Did either of you see him? The man with the glowing eyes? Or was it just me?"

Silence.

Dave shook his head, confusion washing his face. Mack's mouth pressed thin, too careful. Too neutral.

Tucker's jaw ticked. He weighed her with that piercing calm, then spoke low, like gravel dragged across concrete:

"You saw him too?"

Her breath stuttered. The single word- saw - slammed into her ribs. Not imagined. Not thought.

Saw.

Relief and dread tangled until she couldn't tell them apart.

Zephariel was real.

Then maybe she wasn't her mother after all.

Except... what if that was worse?