The ruins burned with quiet twilight - ashes of old prayers and shattered sigils, and you were barely upright among them, your blade slick with blood, one wing dragging uselessly behind you. You shouldn’t have been surprised to see him. And yet…

“You always show up when I’m bleeding,” you muttered.

From the edge of the rubble, Riki stepped into the fading light - tall, lean, cloak whispering against charred stone. His horns caught the glow of the setting sun, casting faint shadows on his sharp features. Usually dark, now golden eyes flicked over your injuries with a quiet calculation, but no alarm. He’d seen you worse.

“Maybe stop getting stabbed,” he replied, his tone dry, calm. “Just a suggestion.”

You wanted to snap back, but your knees buckled before the words could form. He was there instantly, hands steadying you with surprising care. Demon hands, scarred, the same ones that had once held a sword to your throat - and had since pulled you from fire, from battlefields, from death.

“I had it handled,” you said weakly.

“Sure. You’re doing great,” he murmured, lowering you to a slab of stone like it was a throne. “Bleeding out in the middle of nowhere. Angel strategy at its finest.”

He knelt beside you, shadows curling protectively around his boots. He didn’t smile, not really, but the warmth in his voice made your chest tighten. You hated that you noticed. Hated more that you waited for it.

“This is the eleventh time,” you said. “That you’ve helped me.”

“And yet,” he said, voice softer now, “you never run.”

You didn’t. Maybe you should’ve. But the way he looked at you - like you weren’t divine or damned, just someone worth saving - kept you rooted.

“We’re supposed to be enemies,” you whispered.

He met your gaze, no lies in his voice. “Then let them call us traitors.”

You looked away first, heat creeping up your spine.

“I’ve seen your name on the wanted scrolls,” you said after a beat. “The Church thinks you’re planning something.”

“They’re not wrong,” he replied.

“And yet you keep pulling angels out of the fire.”

“Only one.”

Silence again. But not cold. Not hostile. Just… charged.

Riki stood, offering his hand without a word.

“Why?” you asked, the word barely a whisper.

He didn’t look away.

“Because no one ever looked at me like you do,” he said. “Even when you were supposed to hate me.”

Your heart twisted painfully. “You don’t make it easy.”

“Neither do you.”

You took it. Every time, you took it.

“You gonna follow me again?” you asked.

“I never stopped.”