Then he turned and shut the door in my face.
Conversation over.
“What’d you find out?” MJ asked when I returned.
“A way to figure out what the hidden writing says.”
“And that is?” Zera pressed.
“Dream-walking.”
Zera looked between MJ and Ichi. “I don’t know what that is.”
No, she wouldn’t, and neither would Ichi. I’d assumed MJ had heard the term from Ronen by now, but she appeared just as puzzled.
“Think of it as a Magic 8 Ball for answers about the past, but with the temperament of Cato.”
That didn’t seem to clear up their confusion.
“I’ve never heard of a Magic 8 Ball,” Ichi admitted.
I forgot sometimes that the angels around me didn’t grow up on Earth. Technically, they didn’t grow up at all. They just… were.
“Never mind that. Just… give me a few minutes.”
Sitting back down, I shut my eyes and fisted Cato’s bracelet.
I focused on the details of his cordistella, and?—
“Is something supposed to be happening?” Zera asked, interrupting my focus.
“No,” I snapped. “Be quiet.”
I burrowed deeper into my thoughts, squeezing the smooth beads tighter as I smelled Earl Grey tea, tasted bitter black licorice, saw a library with thick tombs alphabetized, and regrettably felt Cato’s bald head.
What did you write about the Spinewalkers, Ariella?
Her name plucked me from the present and placed me in the past, right inside her body.
She sat in a stiff wooden chair, hunched and entirelyfocused on her work. A cramp formed in her hand as she furiously scrawled words across parchment, her quill scratching relentlessly. An unyielding need drove her faster and faster.
Beneath the surface of that urgency lay fear. And the certainty that time wasn’t on her side.
I followed her words, reading as she wrote, picking up right where I’d left off in the library.
Or so they’d have you believe, hiding the darker truth beneath their lies of balance.
Angels of light, justice, and forgiveness? No. Their façade buckles under scrutiny. If their intentions are pure, they wouldn’t demand I bury every record of Spinewalkers.
A creature that never graced the celestial planes until Etan—an angel demanding a place among the Seraphim council. He claimed they were his creation and insisted he deserved a seat at the holy table for designing the perfect prison for sinners. He even had proof they worked. Said he tested them himself in Hell before it had a ruler.
But the old council rejected his solution. Their doctrine rested on judgment and the possibility of restoration, not annihilation through containment.
Etan abandoned the proposal and returned with one he knew they’d embrace: the Seven Circles of Hell, headed by a leader who’d measure sin and dispense penance. The vision was merciful enough to appease them. It earned him his seat.
And then, weeks later, one by one, the old council?—
Boots poundedon the other side of the wall, and Ariella jerked her head up. Her heart pounded frantically.
