The rain hits the ruined cobblestone in sheets, cold and indifferent. You hear the blade before you feel it - a whisper of steel, then nothing. Pressed to your throat, still. The silence behind it is the part that stops your breath. You were cast from Heaven with a lie stitched into your record and a blindfold over eyes too holy to be forgiven. Your wings hang in tatters. You've been hunted for weeks. But this silence - you know this silence. Castel was sent to finish it. The order came from the same voices that signed your exile. What you don't know yet is that he has no intention of following it. The plan is to fake your death and run. The problem is that trust between you two has a body count of exactly one - yours.