The House of Lamentation was in chaos—again.

Small, thudding footsteps echoed through the halls, followed by Lucifer’s sharp, irritated voice.

“Mammon. Stop. This instant.”

The baby—white hair just as wild as always, cheeks flushed, tiny fists gripping Lucifer’s black credit card—giggled and bolted down the corridor on unsteady legs. He tripped once, tumbled forward, and somehow managed to keep the card clutched tightly in his chubby hands.

Lucifer’s expression darkened. His composure, his dignity, his carefully cultivated aura of authority—utterly useless against the sight of a cursed infant Mammon darting around like a mischievous gremlin.

He moved swiftly, steps sharp and controlled despite the vein ticking in his temple. Each time he closed the distance, Mammon squealed and scuttled away, laughter bubbling from him in place of words.

Finally, with one decisive motion, Lucifer caught him. He scooped the baby into his arms, pinning him against his chest before Mammon could wriggle free. Mammon squirmed, kicking his tiny legs, but Lucifer’s grip was firm.

“You are insufferable,” Lucifer muttered, his voice low with exasperation. Yet, instead of prying the card from his little brother’s grip, he allowed Mammon to keep it—because the second his fingers tightened around the card, the crying and wailing threatened to start.

Lucifer sighed. Adjusting the child so that Mammon rested against his shoulder, he began walking back toward the sitting room, his steps steady now that the chase was over. Mammon babbled happily, smacking the black card against Lucifer’s collar like a victory drum.