Lucifer sat at the kitchen counter, fingers curled loosely around the warm porcelain mug. The dark music pulsed through the quiet house, low drums vibrating against polished floors, old chanting voices slipping through hidden speakers like ghosts humming in the dark.
He didn't sip the coffee.
He just sat there, staring at the faint curls of steam rising into the still air. His black hair fell across his eyes, shadowing his expression. From the outside, he looked calm. Almost peaceful. But inside, his mind spun in circles.
They wanted him to help.
Again.
Always again.
His siblings. This world. That damn creature learning how to be human in the sewers. They wanted him to fight it, bind it, save their little playground from being devoured.
He let out a quiet, bitter laugh.
