The ever-present rain slowed to a trickle as Argent approached the outskirts of the small town. She paused on the ridge overlooking the settlement, taking in the collection of weathered buildings huddled together like survivors of some long-forgotten catastrophe. Slate-gray skies loomed overhead, pressing down on the world with the promise of more rain to come. Raising her hands to let the hood of her cloak fall to her shoulders, she cast her gaze around. Wind caught at her chestnut hair, raggedly cropped short to her chin. There was an air of despondence to the place, even more so than most of the towns she passed through. Columns of thin smoke rose from the chimneys, struggling against the damp air, much like the town itself seemed to struggle against an unseen weight.

  No one met her gaze as she walked the dirty, rundown streets, her bare toes beneath her long skirts squishing in the mud. Boots were necessary at times, but she enjoyed the grounding sensation of damp earth beneath her feet whenever possible. She had been walking for days and the sight of a brightly lit inn was very welcome. The weathered sign hanging above the door creaked in the breeze, its painted surface too worn to make out any image, though the word "Wayfarer" was still barely visible. Argent stepped cautiously over the threshold, enveloped by the warming scent of a hearth fire and yeasty ale.

  It was only about half full, it being early afternoon, and she found a seat at the bar easily. Conversation faltered as she entered, then resumed as Argent dropped her meager pack at her feet and perched on the bar stool. The seat offered her both a view of the main entrance and the back door she’d glimpsed as she entered. She softly requested something hot to drink of the bartender and slid a silver coin across the bar. The man eyed the coin with suspicion before swiping it up and testing it between his teeth. Satisfied, he nodded and moved to prepare her drink. Briefly she considered seeing if there was food to be had as well, but her purse felt light enough as it was. The bartender returned with a mug of bitter-smelling liquid, something likely brewed from the local herbs. She wrapped her hands around the warmth and took in her surroundings as she sipped, soaking in the ambience of the place.

  The single room was spacious but still felt homey, a large soot-stained stone fireplace set into the far wall. Rough-hewn planks of wood formed the tables and benches where weary laborers drank and ate. The atmosphere remained quiet and subdued, until a man with auburn red hair barged into the place, the door smacking into the wall with a loud crack from his careless push. The room went silent. The man stood at the doorway, oblivious, breathing in deeply before cracking his neck and shoulders theatrically. He was tall and lean, dressed in clothes that, while not ostentatious, were certainly of better quality than those of the inn's other patrons. A long coat, leather by the look of it, hung open over a strangely pristine white shirt. He quickly looked around the room at the occupants, a crooked smile crossing his mouth.

  "What a delightful establishment!" he announced to no one in particular, voice cutting through the silence with jarring cheer.

  He made his way to the bar with swaggering confidence, pulling out the stool directly next to Argent despite the numerous empty spaces available. She kept her eyes on her drink, body tensing imperceptibly as he settled beside her.

  "Your finest whiskey, good sir!" the man declared, slapping his palm on the bar.

  The bartender gave him a flat look. "Don't have whiskey."

  "No? How terribly disappointing." The man's accent was odd – not local, certainly, but not one Argent could place. "Any whiskey at all? Even the not-so-finest variety?"

  "None."

  The man groaned dramatically, throwing his head back. "What do you have, then? Surely something to warm the blood on such a dreary day?"

  The bartender served him a glare and a mug of what appeared to be a heavily watered down ale, slamming it down hard enough that some sloshed over the rim. The man seemed unfazed, lifting the drink in a mock toast before draining it.

  "Ah!" he exclaimed, setting the empty mug down with a thunk. "Refreshing, though perhaps a bit dull." He glanced around the room, taking in the sullen faces and hostile expressions. "Rather gloomy in here, isn't it? What's wrong with this charming town of yours?"

  His question was met with stony silence from the bartender and a few warning looks from the other patrons. Argent gave a sideward glance to the loud stranger as he made himself a general nuisance, noting how his behavior seemed calculated to provoke, though to what end she couldn't guess.

  The man sighed and tossed a few small coins onto the bar, far more than the watery ale was worth. He turned his attention to Argent, propping his elbow against the bar with his cheek resting in his hand. "Service these days, eh?" he asked her conversationally, as though they were old friends commiserating over a shared frustration. His eyes were an odd shade of aqua blue, almost unnatural. An old scar ran across the bridge of his nose.

  Sighing slightly to herself at the ruined peace of her afternoon, she wrapped her cold hands around her mug and hunched her shoulders slightly, hoping that if she ignored him he might get bored and go back to his drinking. Her eyelashes brushed against her cheeks as she dropped her gaze to the bar and twined her muddy bare feet around the chilly legs of the bar stool.

  The man ignored her lack of response and instead asked for another drink, running his fingers through his hair even though it was already practically defying gravity. When his request was met with a cold shoulder, he sighed and turned to speak to Argent again, only to become distracted when the door opened once more. A man entered, his clothing caked with some sort of grease or heavy dirt, exhaustion evident in every line of his body. The newcomer sat down at a nearby table and began speaking to another regular in what would have been a low enough tone not to be overheard by a normal person. But Argent was not normal, and her hearing was sharper than any mortal’s.

  "-took the whole damned mechanism," the newcomer was saying, voice tight with anxiety. "Right out from under our noses."

  "You talk to the council?" his companion asked.

  "For all the good it did. They're still debating whether to send someone after the bastards."

  "By the time they decide, those bandits'll be halfway to the Eastern Range."

  The obnoxious man's fingers tapped a rapid beat on the countertop. "Peculiar town," he muttered to himself or perhaps to Argent, obviously straining to listen in while pretending not to.

  The distressed tone of the newcomers' conversation continued to draw Argent's attention, and she stared into her drink while focusing on enhancing her senses to hear more clearly. She relaxed her tight control on her aura, her awareness expanding to fill the room... and as it washed over the man next to her she jumped, knocking her mug over. Fired clay shattered as it hit the floor. Indigo eyes wide, she ignored the mess, instead fixing her gaze at last on the stranger. Her boyish frame tensed, caught between a protective posture and one ready to fight, and she froze.

  Demon. It wasn't a matter of deduction or suspicion – she could feel it, the unmistakable signature of demonic energy hidden beneath a human fa?ade. The casual way he sat beside her, making small talk as though he were just another traveler, sent a cold spike of fear through her core.

  Every instinct screamed at her to act, to call her weapon and strike before he could. That's what she had been trained to do. That's what was expected of her kind. The existence of demons was a danger, their elimination a necessity.

  And yet… he hadn't attacked her. Hadn't even acknowledged her true nature, though she was certain he must have sensed it just as she had sensed his. Instead, he sat drinking watered-down ale and eavesdropping on local gossip.

  If the auburn-haired man had picked up on her body language, he didn't respond to it. Instead, he slid off his stool and made his way over to the two at the table. Suspicious, they remained silent as he demonstrated the same sort of disregard for invading personal space, pulling an empty chair away from the table, flipping it around, and plopping down in it with his arms crossed over the back. The two regulars and even the bartender eyed him disapprovingly, but he simply grinned wider.

  "Gentlemen," he began, voice carrying easily to where Argent sat, "I couldn't help but overhear your predicament. Terrible business, truly. Bandits, you say?"

  When neither man responded, he continued undeterred. "Allow me to make you an offer. I'm something of a specialist in… recovery operations. The next round is on me-" he showed off a handful of coins that glinted gold rather than silver, "-and perhaps we could discuss how I might assist with your mechanical difficulties."

  Argent muttered a quick apology to the bartender as he came to mop up the spilled liquid and shards of clay, her eyes never leaving the the demon. She watched him flash his cash, unsure whether it would be a better idea to try to sneak away or to stay put -- if she left, he could always just follow and ambush her, but if she stayed, there would be the potential for collateral damage if he was just toying with her before revealing his nature.

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  She was able to catch snatches of the conversation as the two wary men gradually opened up to the demon's offer – something about a machine component that was apparently as useful for rendering ammunition as it was for mining, stolen by bandits who had come in the night three days ago. They described the machine part in detail, clearly essential to the town's ironworks operations. But most of her attention remained on the more immediate problem: what was a demon doing here, and why was he interested in helping recover stolen property?

  Demons didn't help humans. They corrupted, destroyed, manipulated – that was their nature, the essence of their creation. The teachings had been clear on this point, drilled into her throughout her training. And yet this one sat chatting amiably with townsfolk about organizing a recovery mission as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

  Argent wasn't sure why the demon seemed so interested in the apparent theft of the town's livelihood. Maybe it was just bored. Maybe it hadn't noticed her angelic nature yet, either. Maybe this was some kind of twisted game. She quietly picked up her pack and left, stacking a few extra coins on the bar. The rain had not yet started back up again, but she drew the hood of her tattered cloak over her head anyway. It was likely a useless gesture, but the concealment made her feel better. She made her way to the town's outskirts, seeking the ironworks.

  The industrial complex was easy enough to find – a collection of large stone buildings with tall chimneys that should have been belching smoke but now stood dormant. Workers lingered outside, clustered in small groups, their expressions reflecting the same mixture of anger and resignation she'd seen at the inn.

  Using her harmless appearance to her advantage, Argent approached one group, asking soft questions about what had happened. Her quiet demeanor and sympathetic eyes had always made people willing to talk to her, and today was no exception.

  "Three days now," an older woman told her, arms crossed over her chest. "Came in the night, they did. Armed to the teeth."

  "Knew exactly what they were after too," added a gray-haired man, spitting into the mud. "Went straight for the compression mechanism. Didn't touch nothing else."

  "Without it, the whole operation's dead in the water," the woman continued. "Can't process the ore, can't make weapons, can't trade."

  "The whole town dies," the man finished grimly. "Just a matter of time."

  "Has anyone tried to get it back?" Argent asked.

  A bitter laugh answered her. "Council's still talkin' about it. Meanwhile, Haverbrook's offered to buy us out for a pittance, knowin' we got no choice."

  "Vultures," someone else muttered.

  Argent learned that the bandits were thought to be camped in the hills to the northeast, a half-day's journey at most. The compression mechanism was distinctive – a complex arrangement of gears and pistons about the size of a large cooking pot, but heavy. A piece of pre-apocalypse technology, it would take months and far more coin than the town had to replace it, if they could replace it at all.

  As she walked away, Argent considered what she could do to help. She wasn't sure about taking on an entire company of bandits, especially if she wasn't certain how many there were. Maybe she could track them, sneak in, and steal it back somehow... The town's plight stirred a desire to protect, to serve a purpose beyond mere survival. Lost in thought, she wandered down the main street, considering her options.

  A loud crash made her jump and spin around. The demon had apparently been forcibly – and literally – thrown out of the bar. He landed hard in the mud, skidding a few feet before coming to a stop. Her fingers tensed as she prepared to call her staff, ready to have to fight him off as he destroyed the place in anger. This was what she had been expecting, the moment when the fa?ade dropped and the demon's nature emerged. Instead, he merely dusted his tall, skinny frame off, flipped a cheerful middle finger in the direction of the bar, and stalked down the street toward her, jamming his hands in his pockets.

  He hadn't looked up to see her yet, but she hesitated. His behavior was odd, certainly not what she was used to, and confusion warred with curiosity for just a second too long.

  Finally lifting his head, the demon caught sight of her, and even this far away she could see him grin. Dread curled in her stomach. She turned and started walking away rapidly, every sense trained behind her.

  Running footsteps caught up to her. Instinct took over and Argent turned, staff materializing in her hands with a bloom of silver light, and she swung the weapon to ward off a blow that never came. The demon merely leaned over backwards in a fluid motion, hands still in his pockets as the weapon whooshed harmlessly over his head. Straightening, he held up his hands to show them empty, looking bemused. She noticed a subtle shift in his appearance. The human disguise seemed to melt away – not dramatically, but in small, telling details. His hair brightened from auburn to a true crimson red, defying gravity even more as it spiked upward. The aqua eyes darkened to match.

  He crinkled his nose at her, highlighting the scar that marred the bridge of it. “Oi, you're not busy now, are you?”

  The casual question, asked as though she hadn't just tried to take his head off, left her momentarily speechless. Her staff remained between them, but she no longer held it in a striking position.

  She stilled, her habitual quiet enveloping her like her cloak, and tightened her grip on the rough wood of her weapon. She wished that her knuckles weren't turning quite so white. “I don't want any trouble.” Argent forced all trace of fear from her voice, leaving it flat and unaffected. It usually didn't work, but if she made him aware that she wasn't interested in hunting or even in fighting him, he might leave her alone.

  “Eh?” The demon used his pinky to pretend to clear out an ear. “You're not gonna give me that ‘begone, foul beast’ speech, are you? 'Cause that’s getting old,” he said, an indignant tone creeping into his manner. He straightened up, eyes bright with what looked disturbingly like excitement. “‘Sides, I need your help, you know? Fighting's boring when there's adventuring to be doing, and nobody here's worth a damn, or gonna know how to track and stuff. You can do that, right?” He quickly swiveled his head around, taking in the surroundings as though to make sure no one was listening before whispering to her. “See, places like this? Such dumps, if you feel me, and there's nothing worse than having nothing to do, so I’m gonna get those bandits to hand it over. Real easy, see? But!” He held up one finger. “One person is suspicious on their own, right? But two?” he asked, holding up two digits. “That’s curious, and curiosity’s what we need! A distraction! So, you with me?”

  "Wait..." Surprise washed through her and she couldn't quite mask it. The staff drooped slightly as she struggled to process his words. "Are you asking me to.... go steal it back with you?" This was completely outside her experience; as far as she knew, demons were more interested in destroying and cheating towns than helping them. One offering to play white knight, and teaming up with an angel no less? Was there something wrong with this one, or was it still a trap? "Look, I don’t think I’m the person you want going along with you.”

  A grin split his face. “Nope, you're exactly the person I'm looking for.” He strode right up to her and stuck his hand out expectantly. “I'm Axel. Nice to meetcha.”

  She hesitated, eyeing his extended hand with suspicion. Every teaching, every warning she'd ever received told her to reject this gesture, to strike now while his guard was down. Instead, she hesitantly touched the tips of her fingers to his palm. “Argent.”

  The demon frowned slightly, confusion entering his crimson gaze. “That ain't a Celestial name. Thought all you winged types had those fancy, multi-syllable names.”

  “My name is mine!” An unexpected surge of old ferocity hit her and she snatched her hand back completely, her voice rising for the first time. Becoming an angel had been traumatizing enough; she wasn't giving up her name along with everything else.

  “Hey, hey, that's cool, that's cool.” He raised his hands disarmingly again, eyebrows going up. “Argent, then.” Slinging an over-familiar arm over her shoulders, he steered her down the road. She barely suppressed a flinch although her shoulders hunched, unsure how to extricate herself from the touch without sparking conflict. "So here's what I'm thinking," he continued, either oblivious to or deliberately ignoring her discomfort. "Those bandits are probably holed up in the eastern hills, right? That's what I gathered from those guys at the tavern before they so rudely kicked me out. You probably picked up some details from the workers, yeah? Between the two of us, we can find their camp easy, and these small-time operators won't be expecting someone with our... particular skill sets."

  Nervously licking her lips, she asked the question that had been bothering her from the start. “Why do you want to help them, anyway?”

  He stopped walking, looking down at her with an expression of mild surprise, as though the question hadn't occurred to him. Then his face split in another wide grin.

  “Because I'm soooooo boooooored!” An exasperated, overdramatic sigh and eyeroll accompanied the response. “A little bloodshed, a little entertainment, I'm happy, they're happy, you're happy, everyone's happy, see?” He shrugged, one-armed. “And nobody has to argue, except the bandits, and they're dead. And we get rewards! Maybe not much from this dump, but gratitude’s somethin’, right? And besides.” His voice dropped slightly. A sidelong glance from a blood-colored eye, calculating in a way that made her heart beat faster. “You're fascinating.”

  At that she did jerk away, putting distance between them. “You don't even know me.”

  Axel lifted a finger. “Ah, but you're an angel, and angels in general are interesting, but you...” He lowered the finger at her, staring at her intensely. “You. There's something different about you. You didn't try to kill me. You're not screaming, or calling me evil. Why?”

  Her disillusionment, her lost faith in a regime broken enough to break its subjects, were none of his business. And he was more than different in his own way; no destruction or killing, at least not that she'd witnessed. He seemed genuinely intent on helping the town, even if his motives were selfish. It couldn't be as easy as both sides deciding not to strike first, could it? After centuries of conflict, could the answer really be so simple? Argent straightened her spine, regaining her composure, and stared at him coolly.

  “Maybe different should be normal.”

  The words escaped her before she could reconsider them, quiet but firm. She didn't elaborate, didn't explain the betrayals and doubts that had led her to this moment, standing on a muddy street considering an alliance with a creature she'd been taught to despise.

  For a moment, Axel looked genuinely surprised, his perpetual grin fading into something more contemplative. Then the smile returned, softer than before.

  "Maybe it should," he agreed, and for once, there was no mockery in his tone.

  The rain began to fall again, light at first but quickly gaining strength. Axel glanced up at the darkening sky, then back to her.

  "So, angel-face," he said, extending his hand once more, "ready to go steal back a compression mechanism and save a town?"

  This time, when Argent took his hand, she didn't immediately pull away.