Morning
The ruined chapel smelled of singed wax and cold stone. Candles lay toppled, their pools of blackened wax congealing across the flagstones. Stained-glass windows ; shards of colored glass glittered among splinters of pews and torn hymnals. Somewhere in the nave a cracked monstrance trembled on its side, an image of holiness desecrated and mute.
Kalawarna sat on the front step of the altar, one leg tucked under her and the other tapping an impatient, nervous beat against the floor. Each impatient bounce sent her skirt and chest rising and falling, a rhythmic motion that did nothing to hide the edge in her eyes. She flattened a palm on her thigh, as if to steady herself, but her fingers trembled.
"Mitleet should have been back by now," she said, voice thin with worry. She rose on the last word and stalked a few paces toward the shattered lectern, toes scuffing the dust. "I'm going to check on her."
Dohnaseek leaning against a ruined pillar, shoulders slumped. His gaze was on the ruin at his feet; his hands were folded into each others. "Forget it," he said without looking up. "She's dead."
Kalawarna's glare snapped to him like a drawn blade. "Don't you say that. Don't—"
Dohnaseek raised both hands, careful, conciliatory. "I'm not saying I want that. I'm saying we can't afford to—" He cut himself off, sighing, the tired sound of someone who'd already rehearsed every possible failure. "You know how reckless she gets. If what we've heard is true, she must have made contact. That's not a thing that usually ends with a talk with her."
Anger flared in Kalawarna's face. She strode to where Dohnaseek stood and jabbed an accusing finger at his chest. "Then we go after him. We find that… that human and we make him bleed for what he did."
"Or we go die there," Dohnaseek shot back. "Pick your revenge and count the cost. We are here for a mission, mitleet was just supposed to observe and if she had sit here quietly like always , i would been there and we wouldn't having this talk."
Their voices rose, the argument . Both turned on a soft sound: Raynare's laugh, barely audible, slipping from the broken altar where she perched like a dark bird. She dangled her legs over the edge, boots swinging in lazy circles. Her wings were folded, glossy but her posture held the calm of someone accustomed to being obeyed.
"Dohnaseek is right," Raynare said, voice cool and measured. She let the words hang between them . "We secure the sacred gear first. Then—if there's time, if opportunity presents itself—we deal with that boy."
Kalawarna's jaw worked. She opened her mouth, shut it, and then the fury broke free in a short bark of laughter that was half-sob. "Secure the sacred gear? Raynare, that girl—Mitleet—she confronted him because she thought she could handle him. You want to pick up a relic instead of hunting the throat of killer of our frined .?"
Raynare's wings fluttered with the movement, a faint wind stirring ash across the altar. She did not rise. Instead she leaned forward a fraction, the lamplight catching the sharp line of her cheek. "You will do as i say ." she said, and her tone was a knife wrapped in silk. "We do not have the luxury of sentiment. We cannot afford to throw ourselves at a human when we are on buisnees here . If we act without leverage, we will be punished by our own."
Silence closed around them for a breath. Kalawarna's hands curled into fists at her sides; her nails left crescent crescents in her palms, but she did not speak.
Raynare's gaze slid to Dohnaseek. "Prepare the ritual," she said, decisive now. "We will bind the ward around the sanctum and gget the gear tonight. Afterward we decide—together—how to proceed."
Dohnaseek's shoulders straightened. He bowed his head once, the movement practiced and brief. "Understood." He stepped away from the pillar and began to move .
Kalawarna watched him for a long moment, every muscle still primed for flight. Finally she inhaled, slow and controlled, and sat back down on the altar step. Her leg huffed another impatient beat. "If that boy crosses Mitleet's name, I'll be the one to finish it," she said. "But for now… the gear."
Raynare's lips curved. It was not quite a smile, but something like satisfaction.
==
Evening had tightened its grip over the city when Jin tuned the shuriken into the board. The metal sang through the range and buried itself dead center with a dull thunk. He drew another, spun it between thumb and forefinger, and loosed it in a practiced arc. The target answered with a crisp cut.
An hour had blurred by in the rhythm of steel and breath. Jin's forearms burned pleasantly; the sharpening routine steadied the part of him that still wanted to break things. Sweat pearled at his temple, darkening the collar of his shirt. He liked the simplicity of this room .
Footsteps came soft on rubber matting. Jin didn't turn until the familiar silhouette slid into the doorway—Shikaku, eyes wide as if someone had punched the air from him. He moved with the exhausted gait of a man who'd been kept awake for too many nights.
"You finally breathed," Jin said. He dropped another shuriken and wiped his hand on a towel, then set the towel down and took a long pull from his water bottle.
Shikaku took the sofa, shoulders sagging. He caught his breath twice before speaking. "A group came asking for you," he said.
Jin's lips twitched. "Fallens. I knows."
"How—?" Shikaku's voice cracked. "How did you know? Did you… spy on me?"
Jin sat down on the opposite sofa and removed a fresh shuriken from its sheath, spinning it between his fingers like a metronome. "Because I killed one last night," .
Shikaku inhaled sharply, horror and anger pushing together. "Why would you do that? Fallen will come down on us. They'll wipe this place , me and you ."
Jin's eyes narrowed. He made a small, impatient gesture. "Shut up. Don't think for me. I'll take care of Fallen. You—"
He cut himself off and shoved a hand through his hair. "—You should have tell me. If they came asking, why didn't you signal me?"
Shikaku's shoulders tightened; he shoved his palms together, the familiar barked nerves resurfacing. "Phones could be tracked. Messengers are not safe by magic. I came here after I told them about your house knowing you would be here . I thought—" he stopped, unable to finish.
Jin's expression went cold with frustrated appraisal. "Next time," he said, voice clipped, "use symbols. Spade for Fallen. Goat for devils. Sword for the Church. Cloud for Shinto. Up-arrow for Heaven. Star for others. Drop a burner phone or leave the sign at the gym. Subtle. Disposable."
Shikaku swallowed and nodded, relief and shame tangling across his face. "Okay. I'll use that. I'll… be careful."
"You better," Jin answered.
Shikaku laughed, a humorless sound. "With the money they give me for information ,I would treat them like king . With your support and money . I would be minister, in no time. The old one's already talking early retirement by some convicing .Thanks for your idea ."
Jin who listening and thinking ask a questiion " Earlier What do you mean by you came here by telling them about my house . they didn't get my location yesterday ?. "
"Yesterday, it was a little blonde girl who asked about you," Shikaku explained. "Today, a busty woman showed up saying her friend had forgotten to tell her something. I didn't ask for more details."
Jin stood abruptly, a grim expression on his face. "Shit. I've got a bad feeling about this."
Just outside Jin's house, the two men stood staring at the charred remains of the building. The flames licked at the skeleton of the structure, a testament to the destruction.
Jin's face contorted with rage. "I'm going to kill her."
Shikaku, sweating and visibly nervous, desperately didn't want the situation to escalate with the Fallen. "Where did you say the old church was?" Jin's voice was a low growl.
Shikaku tried to keep his own voice calm, hoping to defuse the situation, but one look at Jin's face and the address spilled from his lips.
He watched as Jin got in his car and sped away, leaving him standing there in the street.
"Well," Shikaku muttered to himself, "shit."
===
i am back .