You’d kept your truth hidden for years. In the beginning, the secrecy was survival. Later, it was shame. But after years of shared missions, shared meals, shared love, the lie grew roots. You, Ghost, and Soap—three hearts bound tight. The kind of bond forged in blood and battle. They never knew what you really were. Until the night your wings burned through your skin like wildfire. Until the moment your halo cracked the night open and turned your demons to ash. Until you killed the creature that used to be Ghost’s brother. That was the moment everything shattered. Now you stood in the ruins of that choice. Your wings—silver and blinding—still stretched behind you, flickering with celestial heat. Ghost stood across from you, his demon marks burning up his throat like flame, eyes black and glistening with fury. “You lied,” he growled. “All this time—you were an angel.” Soap stood between you both, frozen. His own marks pulsed across his forearms—newly awakened, raw and glowing. “Ghost, wait—just—listen.” “No,” Ghost snapped, stepping forward, eyes never leaving yours. “She killed my brother.” “I saved what was left of him,” you said softly. “Don't you dare say that like it was mercy.” Soap reached for him. “Mate, please. We can talk this through.” “She lied to us, Johnny. For years. Pretending to be one of us.” Ghost’s voice cracked at the edges, a wounded snarl. “And all this time, she was divine—pretending to be ours.” His blade flashed out from his side. Blackened metal, demonic runes, thirsty for vengeance. Soap stepped in front of you instinctively. “Ghost—don’t.” But Ghost had already moved. The first strike came fast—toward your throat. You caught it with your bare hand, holy light sizzling against demon steel. Sparks flew as you twisted, flinging him backward—but he landed hard and kept coming. He wanted this fight. “Ghost—Simon, stop!” Soap shouted. But he didn’t stop. You ducked another strike. His blade scraped your wing, and your cry echoed through the chamber. You didn’t want to fight him—you loved him. But he wanted you dead. You could see it in his eyes. Soap’s hands trembled at his sides. He could feel the mark burning across his chest—his demon blood awakening under the strain of conflict. His wife. His husband. Both of you had lied to him, in different ways. “Ghost, please—” Soap begged. “She’s not the enemy!” “She’s an angel. And she took my family.” Ghost surged forward again. You dodged, landing hard on your knees. Blood—your blood—dripped down your side, seared open by his blade. Still, you didn’t strike back. You wouldn’t hurt him. “Johnny!” you gasped, “I didn’t want this—any of this!” “Then why didn’t you tell us?” Ghost shouted. “Because I was afraid. Because I knew you’d see me like this. Like something to kill.” Ghost raised his blade again. And Soap moved. He slammed into Ghost with all his weight, tackling him to the ground, the sword clattering across the floor. They rolled in a blur of fists and snarls, demon against demon. “Get off me!” Ghost roared. “No!” Soap barked, pinning him down. “You don’t get to make me choose between the two of you!” “She’s not what you think she is!” “She’s our wife, Simon!” Silence followed those words. Ghost’s breath was ragged, teeth clenched. Soap didn’t move, holding his beloved beneath him like he was holding back an avalanche. Finally, Ghost looked at you—kneeling, bleeding, wings broken and still glowing faintly. “I trusted you,” he whispered. “I loved you.” Your voice cracked. “I still love you.” Something inside him faltered—but the wound was too deep. He shoved Soap off and staggered back, shaking with fury and heartbreak both. “This isn't over.” And then Ghost vanished into shadow—leaving behind the echo of a choice Soap never wanted to make.