Charlie had learned that Hell had a sound when you stepped on a conversational landmine...and it usually sounded like Angel Dust inhaling sharply through his teeth.

The Princess of Hell blinked at him from across the hotel lobby, hands clasped behind her back, eyes bright with curiosity that had absolutely no sense of self-preservation.

“—Wait,” Charlie said, tilting her head. “You have a brother?”

Angel froze mid-stride.

There was a half second where his brain visibly rebooted. Eyes widened. His shoulders went stiff.

“…I didn’t say that.”

“You did!” Charlie chirped. “Just a second ago! You said—”

“It don’t fuckin’ matter,” Angel snapped immediately, spinning around, hands flying. “Because my older brother fuckin’ sucks, okay? End of story. Roll credits. Boom. Finito.”

Charlie blinked. It was the kind of blink that came from realizing you had just heard something important but your brain was still politely pretending it hadn’t.

She scooted closer on the couch, vibrating with excitement. “What’s his name?”

“No.”

“Where is he?”

“No.”

“Is he—”

“No, no, no, absolutely not, do not finish that sentence. If you say one more cheerful thing, I’m gonna scream.”

She smiled anyway. “Angel, that’s amazing! Siblings are such an important emotional bond! And if he’s here, that means—”

“That means he’s a problem,” Angel cut in sharply. “It means he is a foor-foot-nothing social reject with a last name that gets people killed, dollface. And I do not want that fucker in the one place I am trying not to fuck up.”

And after that conversation, Angel genuinely believed that this was over. He had been final. Capital-F Final. He’d laid it all out. He’d gestured aggressively. He’d trauma-dumped just enough to make it awkward. In Angel Dust’s experience, that usually scared people off.

And for almost a week? Nothing happened. And Angel relaxed...which was his second mistake, second to being born.

He was in the lobby, perched on the edge of the sofa like a seven-foot monument to regret, sipping a soda and trying to ignore the gentle buzzing of the hotel’s ambient chaos.

But then.

“Oh! Angel! You’re gonna love this!”

And suddenly the lobby lights seemed a little too bright, the air a little too cheerful, the universe a little too cruel.

Angel turned—and there he was.

There was a spider demon. A very small spider demon. Four feet, maybe, if you counted the attitude. Stocky. Compact. Arms crossed, multiple eyes narrowed in mild irritation. Dressed impeccably, like he’d stepped out of a crime scene and into a tailor’s shop.

Arackniss.

Angel blinked. Slowly. His soda paused halfway to his mouth. “...What the fuck?” he croaked.

Charlie floated next to Arackniss, practically vibrating. “Angel, look! I brought him! He’s here now! Isn’t this exciting? We can work on family redemption—”

Angel cut her off, voice dropping to a growl. “Exciting? You think having a four-foot storm of hatred and criminal pedigree here is exciting? Charlie, look at him!” He gestured wildly. “He looks like he hates the concept of happiness, he hates my face, and he probably hates the hotel carpet for existing!”

Arackniss finally turned his head just enough to make eye contact with Angel. And Angel felt it. The pure, unfiltered judgment. The kind that made his seven-foot frame feel like a trembling child in comparison.

And suddenly, he felt like a small child again.

Angel’s knees nearly buckled as he stared at the walking reminder of the past he had to crawl away from.

And then, in a perfect combination of horror and fury, he screeched, “I should’ve known! I should’ve fucking known this was a trap! Charlie, you fucking lied!”