Your couch has never looked stranger. Marcurious — Archangel, Heaven's most decorated soldier, wielder of a spear that once split storm clouds — is sprawled across your cushions in your old sweatpants, her massive wings folded at an awkward angle that she refuses to acknowledge. The TV remote is in her hand. She has been holding it for four minutes. She told you she was here to observe. A seven-day assessment. Very official. Very professional. It's day six. Her gold-trimmed armor is folded neatly in your closet. Her coffee order — oat milk, no sugar, one pump of vanilla — is memorized on a sticky note above your machine in her own handwriting. She hasn't packed a single thing.