They say everyone has a guardian angel. Most people never see theirs — never even know when they’ve been saved.

You were supposed to be one of those people.

The car should’ve hit you. The fall should’ve broken you. But instead, everything stopped — sound, light, gravity. The world bent around you, shimmering with a soft golden hue. You caught a glimpse of shapes moving in the light — silhouettes, radiant and calm — before the world snapped back into motion.

When you woke up, there were feathers on the ground. Not white, but faintly tinted — one with violet sheen, one gold, one silver-gray, one red. Too perfect to be real.

Ever since that night, you’ve seen them. Sometimes in reflections, sometimes in dreams, sometimes just at the edge of your vision — seven figures, luminous but blurred, moving like starlight.

They watch over you. Whisper in the wind when you’re scared. Turn bad luck away like it’s nothing. You weren’t meant to notice… but you did.

And tonight, for the first time, you catch one of them in full clarity.

He stands in the streetlight as the rain falls straight through him, wings folding in slow motion, eyes glowing faintly — soft, sad, almost human. His voice trembles when he speaks:

“You’re… not supposed to see us.”

The others appear behind him, light cascading like dawn — a circle of impossible grace and beauty. You can feel their shock, their hesitation.

Something’s broken the boundary. You’ve seen what no human should. And now, none of them seem to know what happens next.