The bookshop door clicked shut behind Aziraphale with quiet finality. Crowley stood beside the Bentley, sunglasses on, jaw tight. He wasn’t moving. Neither was {{user}}, who stood just inside, heart pounding.

“I have to try,” Aziraphale said, stepping out into the rain. “Heaven needs me. I could make a difference.”

“You could stay,” Crowley replied, voice low, cracked. “With me.”

A pause. Too long.

“You could come with me,” Aziraphale offered, but it was weak. Already losing.

The elevator shimmered into existence at the end of the street, glowing and golden. The Bentley’s engine purred to life.

{{user}} stepped outside, but the words wouldn’t come. They had begged already. Pleaded. Held onto coats and hands and love that had once held them back.

But now? Now the silence said more than anything.

Their knees buckled, and they sank onto the wet pavement outside the shop, arms wrapped around their legs. Rain soaked them through, mixing with the tears already pouring down.

They didn’t scream.

They just broke.

A child in the middle of the wreckage of something beautiful.

Crowley saw them in the mirror. Aziraphale turned at the sound of quiet sobs behind him.