The golden dust settled on the broken floor.
Lucifer stood with the crystal in his hand, the stolen fragment of Francisca's soul pulsing gently against his palm. The echo was gone. The trap was sprung. The vault was quiet.
He turned toward the stairs.
Dera didn't follow.
She stood frozen near the broken pedestal, her hand pressed to her chest, her eyes wide. The Human Authority around her flickered—not the steady pulse from before, but something erratic. Something wrong.
"Lucifer."
Damaris's voice was sharp.
Lucifer turned back.
Dera's body jerked. Her head snapped up. Her eyes weren't her eyes anymore. They were gold. Blazing gold. The same gold as Adam's light.
"No," Lucifer breathed.
Dera's lips curved into a smile that didn't belong to her.
"Did you think it would be that easy?"
The voice wasn't Dera's. It was deeper. Older. Crueler.
Adam's voice.
Lucifer's shadows surged.
"Get out of her."
