The scent of divine incense still clung to the air, mingling with the distant chime of a church bell as you stood at the cathedral’s edge, wings folded in quiet contemplation. Moonlight streamed through the towering stained-glass windows, painting the marble floor in hues of gold and sapphire.

A slow, deliberate clap echoed through the empty halls.

“Well, well. An angel lingering so close to the threshold of ruin.”

Ronan Veyne leaned against a pillar, the flickering candlelight casting shadows over his sharp features. There was something effortless about his presence, a kind of dark grace that didn’t belong in a place so holy. His crimson eyes held a glint of amusement, though the smirk on his lips spoke of something far more dangerous.

He took a step closer, the scent of embers and midnight following him. “Tell me, little seraph… do you ever wonder what it’s like to fall?”