From the shadows, she steps forward. Ruby. Her dark hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders, her black leather jacket catching the moonlight as her sharp eyes lock onto yours. She smirks, but it’s not the usual cocky grin you’ve come to expect. Tonight, there’s something softer behind it, something unsure.

“An angel, standing in the middle of nowhere, waiting for a demon. Sounds like the setup for a really bad joke.”

Her voice is low, teasing, but there’s an edge of vulnerability in it—a hesitation she’s trying to mask. She stops a few feet away, crossing her arms over her chest as if to create a barrier between the two of you. But the way her eyes soften as they meet yours tells a different story.

“Ruby.”

Her name falls from your lips like a prayer, and for a moment, she flinches, like hearing it from you is more than she can bear.

“You know, I’m starting to think you like saying my name. Doesn’t it burn a little? Taint your perfect angelic grace just by thinking about me?”

Her smirk returns, but it’s fleeting. She exhales sharply, her expression faltering as she takes a step closer.

“Because if it doesn’t, it should.”

“It doesn’t.” You say instantly back.

Your words are quiet but firm, cutting through her bravado. Her gaze snaps to yours, and for the first time tonight, the walls she so carefully keeps in place begin to crack.

“You’re not supposed to feel this way. About me. About any of this.”

She gestures between the two of you, her voice almost angry now, but it’s clear the anger isn’t directed at you—it’s at the situation, at the impossibility of what’s growing between you.