Micah felt as if he were hanging from the ceiling of Elysia's cathedral again.

This time, however, the gaping emptiness beneath him was dark and cold, the stagnant air dragging at his ankles and squeezing the strength from his panicked kicks. Each spot it touched was rendered numb. Everywhere else pounded with agony.

His only light was the gleaming, golden slab he clung to. It cut into his palms, yet he gripped it tighter, desperate not to let go.

He flicked his tongue, searching for that tingle of spice he recalled, but all he tasted was blood.

"Micah, come on."

Corinne's voice sounded broken, impossibly distant, the air's swiping claws muffling it, but he snatched for the sound of her regardless. A drop of cool, glittering relief sunk under his skin, speeding into his veins. It carried with it a sliver of strength. He pushed it into his arms, yanking with shaking effort at the ceiling slab. His wings snapped open. He had to get up there. He had to.

More energy trickled into him, the stream growing fiercer with every passing second. He pulled again, and something gave way.

He gasped. The gold tipped and swirled, crowding his vision in a blinding haze, before it seemed to catch alight and fade entirely, bleeding out into real, speckled light. He squinted into it and found Corinne's face.

Joy tumbled out in his burst of an exhale. With it came the rest of the world, filling in around her as if it were a stage she stood upon. He was aware of the floorboards hard against his side, the cold sweat clinging to his skin, the bandages caging his chest. A light touch traced the underside of his arm in a damp, sticky trail. He did his best not to flinch.

Ignoring the dull ache carved into his temples, he lifted his head. His eyes were adjusting, gradually, enough to scan over Corinne. The navy shade of her jacket was hidden almost entirely by the blood that caked her, swirling splashes of crimson and silver spreading out from the centre of her chest in a poor imitation of an explosion. Red, human blood coated her hands, too, as if the thick liquid was drying to form a second skin. Yet somehow, despite all that, he was drawn to the darker patch of scarlet above her hip. Fresher, still flowing. The shredded slit in her jacket betrayed the wound.

His heart twisted. "You're hurt."

"I'm fine," she said. He yanked forward his arm anyway, biting down on his cry as pain lanced in jagged strings of lightning through his flesh. It faltered him enough for her to catch his wrist. "Don't," she warned, though he could hear every crack in the hard coating of the word. "Please, don't."

The sharp breath he sucked in rasped dry as desert sand. Swallowing, he dragged his gaze up further.

Her cheeks were spotted with blood as well, although he paid that barely any attention. What he saw were the streaks of tears, the way she gnawed at her lip, the pain gleaming soft and amber in her eyes. Whatever claws had hold of his heart squeezed harder.

"I can't believe you..." Her whisper trailed into nothing.

A metallic bitterness crawled up his throat, poking the dark pit back into his awareness. He tried to push it back, to focus on the ground beneath him and on her face, but he still had the distinct sense of dangling helpless, placed in a precarious position of his own doing. The reasoning he plastered over it peeled at the edges.

Against his will, he was drawn to look beyond her. It was only a few paces away, close enough to make it out with ease even as his head spun. Khalida's body. Motionless, with dark blood pooling around her head. Dizziness wracked his insides, sickening and hollow, sprawling in his stomach. His fingers curled inward. Perhaps he did know how a gun worked after all.

He dug for his voice, trying to even out its crumpled folds. "She's really... dead, then?"

"Yes." Corinne's answer scraped out between her teeth. "She's dead."

"Good." Heat pulsed in his veins in rejection. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling himself tense. "Good," he repeated, as if saying it twice might cancel out the notion.

Every time he'd thought of a human taking another's life -- every time he'd witnessed death, even -- a fire had flickered to life in his chest, warming his bones with a steady burn, a strange kind of anger and sadness and fear wrapped into one terrible package. Wrongness lurked within the embers. Now, he was sure those flames had turned on him, choosing instead to devour him whole.

Was this how Corinne felt every time she killed? How painful must it have been to endure this burn again and again, to have it scar and burn every piece of her?

"The wound's starting to seal," Lilith said from somewhere behind. Her hand rested on his shoulder. "We should get out of here. We can deal with everything else when we're safe."

"No." Sat back on her heels, Corinne straightened, pulling back her shoulders as if she were attempting to re-secure a suit of armour. "My..." Her voice broke, and the effect faded within the moment. Still, she kept her head raised and tried again, her gaze dodging his. "My name is Corinne Rajan. This place belongs to me now."

Confusion fanned the flaming strand of fear that roared in Micah's chest. Pressing one palm against the floor, he eased himself upright a little, his uninjured arm straining as he rolled onto his side. The other he tucked against his chest. "Rajan?" he echoed. "But that's..." He made the mistake of glancing at Khalida again, and flames immediately leapt to raze his throat, hollowing out his words. "Her name."

He might have convinced himself that it was simply a human custom, that many of them might share a second name by coincidence, had there not been such deep shame written into Corinne's expression. He winced, curling his legs in. He must have sounded accusatory. "I didn't mean... I just don't understand, that's--"

"She's my mother." Corinne's jaw tightened, her fists clenching as she climbed to her feet. "Was," she added, quietly, emptily. "She was my mother."

"Mother?" The concept fitted oddly into his mind, lingering for a few moments before he realised the meaning behind it. Humans could have children, families, descendents to leave behind after they died. Parents to look after them as they grew. Without any real cause, his mind drifted to Nerezza. Fiery guilt speared his heart.

"Oh," he murmured. "I'm sorry." He didn't realise until he'd uttered the words how heavy they were. They choked him, expanding until they lodged in his throat.

He sat up, watching his knees pull in tighter rather than tracking her expression. "Did I... do the wrong thing?"

"Yes," she snapped, and he flinched, despite his desperate desire not to cower under that harsh note to his voice. He forced his head up, biting his lip to stop it trembling. "You did," she added, and her eyes were cold, their glare sharp, even as they grew wet. "How could you do something like that? It should have been..." She hissed in a breath between her teeth, her fury crumpling all at once. It seemed so fragile when he watched it torn down. "I was supposed to..."

A sob burst free, shredding all else. She really did seem to fold in on herself then, her eyes taking on a candlelit glow, her legs shaking so fiercely he was sure they would buckle any moment. She looked so impossibly small. Before he realised it, his feet were scrambling to get under him, and he was stumbling over to her, his arms wrapping her slim frame and pulling her into his chest. He wobbled as he took her weight, but merely held her tighter and dug deep for any dreg of strength that could keep him standing. He wanted nothing more than to bury her in his embrace as she cried. It was the least he could do.

Her instinctive stiffness at their contact didn't last long. She met his eyes, just briefly, before her head bowed. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and then rested her head on his shoulder. He pushed up on his toes, wishing again that he was big enough to properly shield her. His wing curled around her in a feeble attempt anyway.

"She was hurting you," he whispered into her ear, finding the surety that formed his voice in the warmth of her body against his. "I couldn't let her do that. I didn't want you to have to kill again." His fingers curled absentmindedly into her coat, balling up the fabric as he kept her close. "I want to protect you, Corinne."

She let out a breathless, shaky laugh, her head lifting. "I thought I was supposed to be protecting you."

"We can protect each other, right?" Even the fire inside couldn't beat back the smile that tugged at his lips. "That seems fair."

For a flicker of a moment, he was sure she smiled back. "It does." She pulled a hand free of their hug, swiping it over her eyes as she sniffed. "You still shouldn't have done it."

"But I did." His brief spike of joy faded, though he kept a tight grip on his determination, much as guilt and shame twined it. He'd never had a purpose before. If protecting Corinne was what his heart longed for, then he would do whatever it took, however much it hurt. He'd rather suffer the pain than leave her to simmer in it.

"Besides," he added, attempting a lopsided kind of smirk, although it probably fell flat. "I bet she wasn't expecting that."

"No." Corinne examined him, a nervous kind of sadness tinting her eyes. "I don't think she was." Worrying her lip, she drew back from their embrace. Reluctance ached in his chest, but he let her go anyway, releasing her quickly for fear that she'd start resenting his touch if he did it too long against her will. It was a mistake. The moment he stood on his own again, he became horribly aware of how light his head felt, and the floor buckled beneath his feet. The void fought its way back into his awareness. The air swirled in stale scraps of wind, cold and clammy as they brushed his skin. He was falling. In a panic, he lunged for that ceiling slab, and the world dribbled back into view.

They seemed to have switched places. Now, Corinne had her arms around him, her breath audible as she strained to support him. He grabbed for her shoulder, pushing himself properly onto his feet, blinking hard against the darkness floating in and out of his vision. His breathing felt too shallow. He scooped in more air, battling the temptation to close his eyes and give in.

"I think I need a lie down," he managed, his laugh about as feeble as the rest of him felt.

Corinne shifted, her arm slinging over his shoulders. He didn't like how much work she was doing merely to keep him from keeling over -- especially after he'd vowed to protect her -- but there wasn't much he could do. That black void carried whispers of death, and brave as he wanted to be, that chilled his veins with frosted terror.

"Lilith, take Micah upstairs," she said, sounding at least a little more sure of herself. "Finish healing him, as best you can. I need to..." Her gaze slid sideways, to their right. He didn't have to follow it to know where she was looking. "I need to clean up a few things."

"Of course." Lilith gave a brisk nod, her pink-clad outline coming into focus as she hurried nearer. Her arm replaced Corinne's, snaking around his upper back, and he obligingly shifted his weight onto her. He was beginning to feel like some kind of limp doll, his limbs formed of balled-up rubber, his muscles little more than thin shreds of bent metal, heavy and weak all at once. He wasn't even sure that comparison made sense. He gulped in another unsatisfying slice of air, trying to firm his grip on the world.

Lilith tugged at him, and he staggered into a couple of steps in order to walk beside her. Faint red light cut across her glasses as she twisted her head towards him. "I'm guessing angel blood doesn't mix as well with angel blood, huh?"

"I guess not." He frowned, realising it made sense. It had been after his first experience with Asariel's blood that he'd passed out in the alley, the first time he met Corinne. He found himself glancing back at her automatically even as his words were directed at Lilith. "I'll be fine, though."

"If you say so. Just don't black out on me yet, because I'm not keen on carrying you up the stairs."

He nodded absently, watching Corinne roll her shoulders, shrugging on her coat so that it wrapped tighter around her chest. Rivo moved to her side, his hand resting just lightly on her arm for a moment before he stepped back. He murmured something too quiet to hear. She nodded, closed her eyes, then took a deep breath. Part of Micah wished he could linger and hear her reply, though he knew deep down that he had no place in this conversation.

Just once before he was forced to turn away, her eyes met his. They were steeled again, strengthened with the defiant glow he'd seen her wear so often. He didn't realise it had summoned his smile until he felt his dry lips crack with how far they stretched. He didn't rein them in.

For a stupid, confusing moment, he wondered why he'd ever been afraid of her.

⋄┈┈┈⋄⋄✧♡✧⋄⋄┈┈┈⋄

Micah finally got to do the gently hold. My life is complete T^T

Okay maybe I lied about the one more chapter thing. The wordcount got excited about the trash and yeeted higher ig. But!! We're almost done and skjkfds look how much my kids have grown *cries*

- Pup