After the vibrant red lights and bright atmosphere of the tavern down below, crossing into this new room felt like stepping through a doorway between worlds. It wore damp and dust like cobwebbed blankets, littered with various boxes and cloths and glints of metal, lit by the simple, muted amber of a hanging lantern. The colour of dying, spluttering flame.

The heaviness of its air seemed to settle on Micah's shoulders, digging in with the brash edge of threat. Perhaps the world he'd left behind was lavish and decorated, packed with the intoxicating taste of joy, but it wasn't real. He'd re-entered reality now. It scratched at him with poisoned claws.

Corinne shut the door behind them with a dulled thud, and the music faded to a muffled hum, further sealing away the lingering thump of the dance. Micah shook himself, sweeping a hand through his hair to snap himself back into focus.

The Heart. It had to be somewhere amongst all this clutter.

"This is the storage room," Corinne said, her voice low. She hesitated by the door, her hand still resting on it, scanning its black-painted surface as if she had the ability to see straight through it and watch the balcony beyond. "It's hardly the most secure place, but it doesn't exactly get visitors."

Her gaze trailed from the door to the far left corner. Following its path, Micah spotted a narrow window cut into the higher portion of the wall, just above head height. Daylight sparkled on its surface with the odd effect of a beacon.

"She'll have expected me to come in there," Corinne murmured, the words snagged by both bitterness and the faintest hint of pride. "Someone will be keeping watch for me outside. Keep your head down."

"Alright," he said, ducking as he ventured carefully towards the left wall. A jarring prickle ran over his skin, twisted with discomfort. This felt so wrong. He couldn't help but think of the huge golden cathedral, the ornate statue that usually cradled the Heart in its huge hands, aware of the stark contrast it formed with the decaying feel that pressed down on him now. He was beginning to understand the might of Ghidor's anger. Its heat crawled through his veins now, a different kind of itch that stung with every pulse.

He knelt by the pile of boxes. The tips of his wings brushed the ground, and an instinctive surge of frustration rushed through him, his hand curling around the edge of his coat before he'd even thought about it. A sigh of relief drifted from him as he peeled away its prison.

He felt Corinne's sharp glare land on him and cast her a glance to pair with his shrug. "What? I'm tired of suffocating." He ripped away the final sleeve and tossed the coat aside, stretching out his wings. They twinged, but it was still a wonderfully freeing sensation. "I'm out of sight of the window, don't worry."

She blew out a huffed breath. "Fine. Just for a minute."

"Of course." He rolled his shoulders, keeping his wings draped out either side of him in an attempt to relieve them of their numerous aches, as he leaned forward to inspect the jumble before him. In truth, this wasn't simply an excuse to take the coat off, as much as he was searching for one. Unease marched through his insides. He wanted some element of freedom to shake off the sense of being trapped.

"You do blend in rather well this way," Corinne remarked, sinking into a crouch on the opposite side of the room. "Being scruffy might help with camouflage."

Micah cast her a smirk, although she didn't look up to see it. "See? It has a use."

Curling her hands around the lip of a box, she yanked it towards her with a sharp heave. "She'll be loving this," she growled, more to herself than to him. "The thought of me on my hands and knees, rummaging through the dirt."

He bit his lip, pulling himself away rather than attempt to reply. Again that odd sting of hurt at the reminder that her thoughts lay elsewhere. Why was he suddenly craving her attention like this? Why did part of him still long for her eyes to properly meet his? He never seemed to catch them for more than a moment before they darted in another direction.

This made no sense. He shook himself, his feathers brushing over the hard floor. Of course her focus wasn't on him. Asariel's Heart was buried amongst the dust. He really needed to stop getting distracted.

Shifting higher on his knees, he pushed aside a folded sheet, trying not to wince when he noticed the crusted dark red that stained it. Uncomfortable heat swirled in his chest again. At least it tore him from his circling, nonsensical thoughts. He pulled out the box that lay beneath it, feeling sweat slicken his hands as he sifted through it. The gleaming black barrel of a pistol stuck up from its corner. He couldn't help but wonder if it was the cause of the bloodstains, or if another weapon was the culprit, another taint of evil buried in this awful heap.

The idea that they were so plentiful that they could be discarded in such a manner sent fear scuttling up his spine. In contrast, Corinne's rifle never left her side.

He shoved aside the box and crawled in further. His wings were shields now, brought up over his head to protect him as he dug in amongst the pile. He had to keep flexing them, squirming between positions, afraid that if he stayed still for too long then they'd stiffen up entirely and become thick slabs of rock dragging at his back. They were already difficult enough to manoeuvre. A thousand knots were tied by their muscles, throbbing with every twitch of movement.

His shoulder hit the edge of a wooden beam, and he hissed, flinching back. It turned into a cough as a shower of dust cascaded from the sheet above. He clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound, his eyes stinging in his attempt to swallow the tickle in his throat. It took several seconds before his vision cleared enough to make out what he'd found.

The wood was the leg of an upended chair. Its other three were missing save for a stump in the opposite corner, making it simple to peer around it and see the metallic shine of the object beyond. The glint of gold.

The air rushed from Micah's lungs all at once. He couldn't suck in any more in its wake, his chest squeezed too tight, his gasp frozen in his jaw.

"I..." He fumbled for enough breath to speak. "I found it."

"What?" Corinne, appearing in the corner of his eye. She was crouching down beside him before he could form any kind of reply. His gaze darted to her, noting the golden sparks that mingled with the fire in her eyes as she leaned forward.

She shoved aside the chair and stretched forward, fingers slipping over the Heart's smooth surface before she curled them over and rolled it carefully towards them. He made a brief attempt to grab it from her, but she lifted it before he could, clasping it in a gentle grip with both hands. He saw his own shock mirrored on her face then, but twisted with a soft kind of awe rather than pure elation. Even her frown couldn't hide the depth of the emotion.

Slowly, she stood. He rushed to follow, crowding in at her shoulder. Dirt speckled the glitter of a silvery vein. She wiped it away with a thumb.

"So, this is it." Her monotone didn't match the light in her eyes.

"Yeah." Micah rocked on his heels, a dizzying wave of joy spilling into every nerve. He could barely think. After all that had happened, here he was, staring at gleaming gold again, filled with the sweet-tasting promise of his prize. His reward.

"I can finally go home," he said, riding on the breathless current of the words. "I can leave this awful place."

Corinne's gaze dimmed as it rose from the Heart, drilling into him. "Awful place?"

Micah flinched, the grey of the rest of the room flooding back into his awareness all at once. A crash back into reality. He waved a hurried hand, stepping back. "No. No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I'm..." He gulped, feeling the back of his neck. "Duine isn't awful."

Her lips pressed together. "Was that all you had to do, then? Locate it?"

He watched the Heart edge closer into her chest, a crushing wave of realisation diving into his lungs. He opened his mouth soundlessly.

Perhaps he didn't need his coat to be trapped. He was frozen now, caught in a cage carved of his own foolish actions.

When she didn't receive an answer, Corinne looked down again, shifting the Heart between her hands as she studied it. "It can really heal anything at all?"

"Yes." His voice was finally as quiet as she wanted. It didn't sound like his.

There was a smile sitting on her lips when she looked at him, slight yet warm to match the flickers of flame in his eyes. He wished he deserved it. "Hey," she said. "I get it. I'm glad you get to leave this city." She shrugged, and the expression vanished before he'd remembered to appreciate its rarity, or realise that it would be the last time he ever saw her smile. "Now let's get out of here before we fall at the last hurdle and get you killed."

Her boots hardly made a sound as she moved towards the door. Gold submerged in navy cloth as she slid the Heart beneath her coat, arm curving to pin in there in such a way that it would take a second glance to notice much odd about the stance. For anyone but him, that was. Micah couldn't look away from the folds that hid his prize.

His prize.

Her hand landed on the handle, then paused, the glance she threw over her shoulder a little harsher. "We need to go, Micah. Now. Cover up your wings."

His eyes darted to the beige bundle of his coat discarded on the floor, then flinched away. His fingers threaded with one another. He twisted them, as if he could wring out the turmoil via his sweat-damp hands.

The words rolled around in his mouth, souring the longer the moment of silence stretched. Corinne's stare sharpened. Her lips parted, and he pushed himself to speak before she could.

"You can't take it," he said.

She turned fully, her brows knitting together. "What?"

"The Heart." He hated every strained, shaky word, hated himself for being so stupid. "You can't take it."

Fire fell to smouldering embers in her eyes. They flashed as her jaw clenched. "What do you mean I can't take it?"

Micah's hands clung tighter to one another, his nails biting in between the knuckles. The floor was swaying. The winds were back, a storm howling in his chest, rushing past his ears. "I..." He swallowed. "I need to... to take it back home. I can't get home without it."

"And you didn't think to tell me this earlier?"

The ghost of a blade pricked at his throat, its serrated edge paired easily with the dark look in Corinne's eyes. He tried in vain to ignore it. Guilt and regret and panic were crumbling as one into a single pool of fear, deep and cold enough to drown him. His wings flared at his backward step. "I'm sorry," he managed. "I thought you wouldn't help me if I did."

"Does it even heal?" Her eyes narrowed, almost slits. "Was that a lie too?"

His lies had always been fragile. They scratched at him as they peeled away, laid bare in his expression without need for words. He fumbled for them regardless. "I don't know. I really am sorry." A crack cut through his voice, but still he forced himself to move back towards her, stiffly stretching out a hand. "But... please, Corinne. Can I--"

She grabbed his wrist. There was a moment, half a second in which he froze, ice in his lungs, frost splintering his thoughts. Then she twisted.

His yelp of pain-split surprise was cut off sharply by his back thudding into the wall, his wings snapped painfully straight. His feet slipped on a loose sheet. He might have fallen if not for Corinne's other hand grasping his tunic, balling it, her knuckles pressing hard into his ribs. His heart thrashed against it.

"Please." It wavered more now, his desperation spilling out along with it. "I need to go home. Y-you said it yourself. It isn't safe--"

"What about everything you said last night?" Her nails cut into his wrist. He could feel her shaking, the tremors leaking into his arm with ease. Her teeth were bared. She looked almost animalistic, yet still some fading scrap of fire flashed, a red-tinted crack of hurt that only deepened the darkness. "Fixing our mistakes?" Something like mockery twisted the words, though bitterness shoved out any possible humour.

"I meant all of that." He tried to meet her eyes, push out the sincerity balled in his chest. "I'm really sorry I lied to you, Corinne. But I need to... I need the Heart."

He wished his heart would stop beating with such fervour, or the buzzing in his mind would quiet. He didn't want to be afraid of Corinne. He knew it was wrong. And yet the fear heaved in his stomach, climbing higher the tighter she gripped him. Her grasp on his tunic pressed hard enough to ache.

This isn't her fault, he told himself, over and over, but it didn't take away the pain.

"No," she growled, and even that thought drowned. In the dim light of the room, her eyes might as well have been black. "You didn't. You don't know what it means to fix anything."

Intent swarmed her gaze. Micah couldn't help but see Kasper's bloodied body on the floor, his dulled azure eyes. He squirmed, the wall digging into his shoulder blades.

She only pressed harder, gripping his wrist hard enough that he was surprised it didn't snap. "You accuse humans of greed, but maybe you're the one who's greedy and selfish. You think about nothing except what you want, and care for no-one else. You're the same brat you've always been."

The last few words emerged as a snarl, grating over his skin. The thoughtless urge to run spiked through his veins, and he tugged at his wrist, grasping helplessly for freedom.

He didn't expect her to grant it. He was still reeling from the shock of being released, his outstretched arm hovering in midair, when she grabbed him by the throat.

"Corinne," he gasped.

"Maybe I'll take your heart as well," she hissed. "I think I'll get more use out of that than a brat."

She squeezed, and panic overtook him. It was startling how quickly his lungs began to burn. The air pressed down on his skull, a pressure closing in around him, less an ally than a weighted sheet collapsing from all sides. In a surge of senseless, terror-fuelled hope, he lifted his hands, clawing at nothing until he managed to grab hold of her wrists. The same place he'd held when he'd dragged her into the dance. The only song now was the ringing in his ears, an eerie echo of the horrors of silence.

Feebly, he pushed, feeling his muscles go limp even as he attempted to inject force into them. He could barely tell if any other part of him was moving at all. Darkness dripped into the corners of his vision, swirling the world in wild circles until all he could make out was Corinne's face. Another second, and even that blurred.

He was slipping. The knowledge washed over him, cold and metallic.

He was going to die.

She was going to kill him.

This isn't her fault. The memory of last night's conversation tumbled into his hazy mind, pushing out into the air-starved dregs of his voice. It was scarcely audible through the buzzing thud crowded into his head.

"This isn't you." Tears stung his eyes before he registered their approach. "She... she's in control."

The last word carried with it all the breath he had left. He saw the freckles on her face, the fire behind her eyes, before blackness closed in on it all. The tilting sensation of falling overtook him, the familiar brush of the storm readied to swallow him whole. He wished he still had hold of her wrists. She would anchor him in place.

Instead, when he opened his eyes, her touch was absent.

He gasped, the air rushing in of its own accord. It tasted sweeter than any dose of trouble. His body jolted as his shoulder hit the ground. He was suddenly aware of his wings splayed out behind him, his fingers curling inward as his nails scraped the floorboards, and Corinne, standing over him, her eyes the shade of Duine's night. Her expression didn't shift.

Instinctively, he recoiled, curling in on himself, still sucking in hesitant gulps of air. She'd almost killed him. His ears still rang.

"Then again." She didn't speak with anger any longer. Her tone was flat, drained of emotion, nothing but apathy. "An angel's heart needs virtue to keep it alive. Yours would simply wither and fade. It would be pointless to take."

With that, she turned her back on him. Asariel's Heart sat by her heels. He hadn't noticed her drop it. She bent to pick it back up now, concealing it beneath her coat as she stalked towards the exit.

He could do nothing but watch. She opened the door and slipped through without a backward glance, soundless as ever, leaving Micah alone amongst the shadows.

⋄┈┈┈⋄⋄✧♡✧⋄⋄┈┈┈⋄

I got so caught up in the dance chapter that I forgot the entire reason I started writing this book was for this scene. Whoops. Blame whoever dared me to write an enemies to lovers I guess.

But we found the Heart!! That's good right :D

- Pup