Lute stood alone outside the High Seraphim chambers, rigid as a statue beneath Heaven's sterile light. Once, purpose had filled her lungs like fire. Now there was only silence.

Adam was gone. Abel stood where he should have been. The thought burned. The failed Extermination still haunted her. She had pushed for a harder strike, certain Hell could be broken. Instead, the plan collapsed, and Abel led the retreat with calm authority. Sera praised him. Emily thanked him. No one looked twice at Lute.

Her wings twitched. A phantom voice whispered from memory.

She forced the thought away and straightened her spine.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Lute schooled her expression into cold precision, though grief and frustration still smoldered beneath it. She was waiting. For a fight. For a distraction. For anything that reminded her she hadn't been left behind.