Page 64 of Eclipse Born

The angel looked the same as always—dark hair perpetually disheveled, tie askew, posture slightly too rigid to pass as completely human. But there was something different about his eyes—something older, wearier than before.

“You called?” Cassiel's voice was as I remembered it: deep, slightly formal, with that faint undercurrent of confusion that suggested human communication was a puzzle he was still attempting to solve despite millennia of observation.

I didn't waste time with pleasantries. The fragile hope kindled by Cassiel's appearance was immediately overshadowed by the anger that had been building for days.

“Where the fecking hell have you been?” The words burst forth with more heat than I had intended, revealing the raw concern beneath my fury. I stepped closer to the angel, fists clenched at my sides, shoulders tight with tension.

Cassiel regarded me with that peculiar head tilt that made him look like a curious bird studying a particularly interesting insect.

“You're angry,” Cassiel observed, as if making a scientific notation rather than stating the obvious.

“Jaysus Christ, of course I'm angry,” I snapped. “The world's ending, Cade's walking around like a goddamn robot, and you just disappeared without a word. So yeah, I'm a little pissed off.”

Cassiel absorbed the outburst without flinching, his expression shifting almost imperceptibly from neutral observation to something that might have been concern. “I understand your frustration. But I had reason for my absence.”

“This better be good,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest.

Cassiel sighed, the sound surprisingly human from a being older than civilization itself. He tilted his head slightly, and for a moment, the alley lights caught his profile in a way that cast strange, elongated shadows behind him.

“I was trying to figure out what's wrong with Cade.” The admission came without preamble, direct and unadorned as Cassiel's communication tended to be.

While I had been pacing and fretting and fighting with ghosts, Cassiel had been actively seeking answers. The anger that had been fueling me drained away, leaving behind a hollow exhaustion that seemed to seep into my bones.

“You were...” My voice trailed off as the implications sank in. Not abandonment, but action. Not indifference, but concern.

“I saw how much this was affecting you,” Cassiel admitted, his gaze unwavering despite the personal nature of the statement. “And I needed to know what we're dealing with.”

The words were simple but carried an unexpected weight. From anyone else, it might have seemed like basic compassion. From Cassiel, it represented a remarkable shift from thedetached, often clinical being who had first appeared in our lives.

“You were trying to help,” I stated, the realization dawning fully.

Cassiel nodded once, the movement precise and deliberate. “There is something... missing from Cade,” he said carefully. “Something fundamental to his humanity. He appears whole on the outside, but inside...” He paused, seemingly searching for words. “Inside, he is incomplete in ways that affect far more than just his emotional responses.”

“It also makes him dangerous,” Cassiel added, his voice dropping lower. “To himself and others. You've already seen evidence of this.”

I flinched, unwilling images flashing through my mind—Cade's face, utterly blank as he fired bullet after bullet into possessed humans without a moment's hesitation or remorse. No attempt to exorcise, to save the hosts. Just cold, unhesitating elimination of threats.

“Yeah,” I said hoarsely. “I've seen it.”

I swallowed, suddenly sober despite the flicker of hope that had ignited within me. My mouth felt dry, tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth as I forced myself to ask the question.

“Did you find anything?” The words emerged rough, raw with vulnerability.

Cassiel's gaze darkened, shadows gathering beneath his vessel's eyes in a way that seemed more than just a trick of the poor lighting. “I might have an inclination.”

The careful phrasing set off warning bells in my mind. Angelic communication was typically direct to the point of bluntness. This deliberate vagueness suggested uncomfortable truths, knowledge that Cassiel was hesitant to share in its entirety.

“An inclination,” I repeated, a hint of my earlier frustration returning. “What the hell does that mean?”

Cassiel's expression didn't change, but something shifted in his posture—a subtle tensing, as if bracing himself.

“Every angel I spoke to told me the same thing,” he said instead of directly answering.

His gaze lifted skyward, toward the stars barely visible through the thin cloud cover and city light pollution. The gesture seemed both calculating and nostalgic, as if he were remembering conversations with beings who existed beyond mortal perception.

“I've consulted with those who remember the First Nephilim's binding,” Cassiel continued, his voice taking on a somber quality. “Those who were present when the seals were created, who understood the price that would be paid if they ever broke.”

I took an aggressive step forward, entering Cassiel's personal space. “Stop dancing around it. Tell me what they said about Cade.”

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