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“They discovered the breach. I lost my place in Heaven, the authority I'd taken, and most of the power that came with what I was. The access to human fate was severed completely. My wings turned black.”

I drew one partly open, enough for the long feathers to catch the lamplight above the sofa. They had looked different before I fell. Even now I could remember the shock of seeing them darken, although the memory of losing the connections I'd once taken for granted was worse. I could still fly, and I was stronger, harder to injure, and quicker to heal than any mortal. My senses were sharper, too. But the authority, and the greater part of the power I'd once carried, were gone.

“I was cast out because I deliberately crossed a line I knew existed,” I said. “Nobody tricked me. I wasn't saving anyone. I wanted you badly enough to do it anyway.”

Everly lifted her chin. “And if you had it to do over?”

She deserved an easy answer. I didn't have one.

“I'd still want to find you,” I said. “I can't give you a prettier answer than that. But wanting to find you isn't the same as having the right to do what I did.”

She walked to the far window and stopped with her back to me. Her reflection lay over the dark water beyond the glass, the forest-green dress a muted shape against the lights along the quay. I wanted to follow her. My wings shifted with the impulse, and I forced myself to stay beside the table.

“You've told me you changed your path,” she said, turning around. “But how am I supposed to know you didn't change mine, too? If you could steal that much power, how can I trust that what I feel about you is mine?”

I'd worried she'd hate me for knowing her name on Saturday. I hadn't prepared for the worse possibility: that she might come to doubt her own desire because of what I'd done.

“You don't have to accept anything just because I tell you,” I said. “But there's a limit I couldn't cross, even with the authority I stole. I could alter myself. My place, my timing, the chance that I'd meet you. I couldn't change your thoughts or make you desire me. I couldn't make you say yes.”

“What if you just made sure I'd want to?”

“That wasn't possible either. I couldn't plant an attraction in you, make a decision for you, or take away a decision you'd made. That part of your fate wasn't accessible to me.”

She shook her head. “You realize this sounds an awful lot like the man who broke into a locked room telling me the one drawer he absolutely couldn't open.”

“Yes. I realize.”

The comparison stung because it was fair. I had no celestial witness to bring into the room and no way to demonstrate a power I'd lost when I was caught. Even if I still possessed it, I wouldn't have tried to prove a boundary by reaching into her life again.

“Think about what happened when I asked you for coffee,” I said. “I wanted you. You could see that much. You wanted to keep work separate from your personal life, and you said no. I went home alone.”

“You respected that,” she said. “Until Saturday.”

“I knew who you were at the Grand, and I knew what you'd probably say if you recognized me. I kept quiet because I wanted you.”

“Do you understand how that feels?” she asked. “I came here angry that you knew me under a mask. Now you're telling me you knew about me before I even knew you existed. You've had years—or however long you've been here—to get used to this. I've had one afternoon.”

“I understand why you're angry. I don't expect you to get used to it tonight.”

Her shoulders lowered slightly, although she stayed by the window.

“I keep thinking about how normal you seemed,” she said. “At work. You helped me arrange those interviews and joked about the adviser forgetting your name. You listened when I talked. I thought I was getting to know you.”

“You were.” I hesitated, then added, “I didn't invent the man who works at Switchline. I like my job. I like Leo, even when he insists on telling me the same dreadful story about his first client every time we drive somewhere together. I meant what I said to you about the assessment, and I meant it when I asked you for coffee.”

“But at work, you never told me you'd come into this world hoping to find me.”

“No. I wanted you to get to know me without having to believe in angels first. It was easier for me that way.”

I let the admission stand, although I could tell from the way she held herself that it hadn't helped.

“Easier,” she repeated. “For you.”

I couldn't argue with that. Her gaze dropped briefly to the black feathers gathered behind my shoulders. On Saturday she'd watched those wings with delighted curiosity. Now she stood well out of reach. I wanted her just as badly in that forest-green dress as I had at the Grand, even knowing she might never let me touch her again.

“I still want you,” I said, my voice rougher than I'd intended. “That hasn't changed. But I won't tell you what to feel about me, and I won't ask you to settle it before you leave.”

She gave a small, unhappy laugh. “You make that sound very simple.”