Lucifer set the bottle back under the counter with a soft clink. The whiskey in Kaelen's glass had gone untouched for a long time now. The werewolf's yellow eyes kept flicking to the door, then to the clean spot on the floor where Silas had once stood, then back to Lucifer.
The bar felt smaller. Not because the walls had moved, but because the truth had finally settled over everyone inside it like a second skin.
"You're really him," the young werewolf whispered again, as if saying it out loud might make it less real. "God."
Lucifer gave a small shrug, the unremarkable face he wore still calm. "Tonight? I'm the bartender. Tomorrow? We'll see."
The grey-haired vampire let out a shaky breath. "And you've been listening to us. To all of us. For weeks."
"I have." Lucifer picked up a new glass. The rag moved in slow, deliberate circles. "You talk more when you think no one important is listening. That's useful."
