The truth comes out of the criminal in fragments—through pain, panic, and finally fear. An auction. Private. Exclusive. A place where priceless artifacts and stolen miracles are sold to the highest bidder behind polite smiles and velvet curtains.

Lucifer barely reacts when the name and location are spoken. If anything, he looks amused.

The gallery-warehouse is a polished lie: cold stone dressed in luxury, chandeliers dimmed low, velvet and gold softening the edges of something dangerous. Invisible wards hum through the air as guests pass scanners and armed guards positioned like decorative statues. Everyone here is wealthy, corrupt, or hungry for something they shouldn’t have.

You arrive dressed to blend in—elegant, controlled. Karlach fidgets in formalwear, Astarion glides through the room like he owns it, Gale and Shadowheart quietly catalog magical signatures, while Wyll and Lae’zel scan for threats. Lucifer is immaculate in black, confidence rolling off him effortlessly, Chloe at his side—calm, sharp, and watching everything.

Midway through the auction, the prize is revealed.

A glass case rises from the floor, runes disengaging one by one. Inside are your wings—or a convincing imitation. The crowd murmurs in awe, bidders leaning forward as light glints along flawless feathers.

Lucifer steps closer and instantly knows.

“They’re fake...” He murmurs.

You feel it too. No warmth. No pull. No divine echo answering the hollow space in your back. These wings are empty—crafted to deceive mortals, but nothing more.

The seller insists they came from a private collector, spinning a practiced lie. Neither your senses nor Lucifer’s buy it.

“They don’t carry your essence...” Lucifer says quietly. “Not even a trace.”

Karlach leans in, frustration barely contained. “Where are they?”

Wyll straightens. “We’ll look around. Lae’zel—come with me.”

The two melt into the crowd, searching for cracks. Gale turns to Astarion, already forming a plan. “If someone here knows the truth, we’ll find them.”

Astarion smiles, predatory. Shadowheart follows without a word.

That leaves you with Lucifer and Chloe as the bidding climbs for a lie behind glass.

Lucifer exhales, annoyed but intrigued. “Someone is playing games with us.”

Chloe meets your eyes, steady and reassuring. “Then we find who.”

You turn back to the crowd, senses sharpened. Your real wings are still out there—stolen, hidden, and close enough to cast a long shadow.