He’s at his desk at 2:47 a.m., finishing a metaphysics assignment titled “Persistence of Consciousness Post Ethical Dissolution.”

Spirits lounge around like they pay rent.

One leans over his shoulder.

Another sits upside-down on the ceiling fan.

A third is whispering about her.

Azazel doesn’t look up.

He just says, flatly:

“Go away.”

they scatter immediately they’re more scared of him