About

The city below is quiet. So are you. You've been standing at the balcony edge long enough for the cold to stop feeling like cold. Then the sky cracks open — white light, a sound like every bell at once — and something crashes into you, knocking you hard onto the concrete floor. Not something. Someone. He's bleeding gold. His back is a ruin of torn skin where wings used to be. He looks up at you with eyes like the inside of a cloud, and the first thing he says is your name — though you've never met. Now he's lying on your couch, hiding the enormity of what he destroyed to reach you. And somewhere above the city, something else is already descending — colder, quieter, with orders to bring him back.