The loft was warm. Not cozy-warm—more like the kind that sticks to your skin and makes everything feel heavier. The lights were low, flickering a little, like they'd seen better days and weren't sure they wanted to keep going.

  She'd asked if there was anything around that didn't taste like holy water, half-joking.

  Ezra didn't say a word—just pulled out a half-empty bottle of vodka from his jacket like someone who'd learned it's safer to carry fire before someone else lights it.

  "Vodka?" he smirked.

  She gave a small nod. Why not. There were worse sins. She was on the floor now, half-leaning against the cool wall, legs pulled up, eyes somewhere between the pattern on the rug and the chipped edge of the windowsill. Ezra sat next to her, arms resting lazily on his knees like nothing could shake him—except maybe himself.

  The bottle went back and forth, and with every sip, her head got a little lighter. Her chest was a little heavier.

  "I was five," she said suddenly, her voice low. "That's when I saw it. My mom dying. Thought it was just a nightmare. But... it wasn't."

  Ezra leaned back. His jaw clenched. He wasn't the listening type—not really. But she kept going anyway, as she'd long stopped expecting anyone to actually care.

  "My dad never talked about it. Not once. Never asked what I saw. Just shut the door. Opened a bottle instead."

  She laughed—quick, bitter. The kind that hits like a hiccup in the soul. "He looked at me like I was some kind of time bomb. Like I was gonna go off any second. And part of him... I think part of him wanted me to. Just to prove he was right."

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  Ezra tilted his head a bit, trying to catch her gaze, but Lia was busy twisting the hem of her top like she could pull a different version of herself out of it.

  Then she looked up. Eyes glassy, unfocused.

  "What happens when someone like me dies?" she asked suddenly, laughing under her breath, but it sounded wrong. Blurry. Like the words didn't fit in her mouth.

  Ezra looked at her. The smirk was gone. In his eyes was something that maybe—maybe—looked like worry. Or guilt.

  "Would you save someone like me?" she asked. Her voice was barely above a whisper like it'd taken her years to even let it out.

  He turned to her and took the bottle from her hands.

  "Alright, Puck. That's enough."

  His voice was calm—but not in a way you argued with.

  She tried, though. Not fighting—more like that cracked, slow resistance that hangs somewhere between defiance and giving up.

  "I mean it," she mumbled. "Maybe I was supposed to die. Or I wanted to. Back then. I can't remember anymore."

  She tried to stand, using the wall to pull herself up—but her body bailed on her. She dropped like a puppet with cut strings.

  Ezra moved fast, caught her, and nearly lost his balance too, but managed to press himself against the wall, holding her. She clung to him like dead weight, arms heavy around his neck.

  "You don't die that easy," he muttered, voice low near her ear, steady as he held her like she was something fragile that screamed when it broke.

  He was about to carry her to the bed when something shifted—quiet, sharp, wrong.

  Maliel stepped out of nowhere, like he'd always been there, just waiting. He didn't say a word. Just moved forward, and took Lia out of Ezra's arms with that eerie kind of softness—like she was something sacred. Laid her on the bed, carefully, and pulled the blanket over her like she'd vanish if he didn't.

  Then he looked at Ezra. Eyes like a knife.

  "What are you doing, Ezrael?" His voice was calm. Too calm. "That thing you have for humans—it's still gonna ruin you."

  Ezra didn't flinch. His jaw tightened. Eyes heavy.

  "She's not yours," Maliel added. "You know that."

  Ezra exhaled slowly, scratching the back of his neck like some dumb kid caught red-handed.

  "I know, Mal. I know. Sorry, man. You know how I am."

  Maliel said nothing. Just turned and left like he'd never been there.

  Ezra stayed a second longer. Looked at Lia—already asleep, breathing deep, hand open on the blanket like she'd just let go of something she didn't want to lose.

  Then he walked out. Quiet. The door clicked shut behind him.