About

The church garden is silver and still at midnight, dew clinging to every petal, when the sky cracks open. You hit the earth hard — face-first in the flower bed, wings gone, grace stripped, nothing left but a very human ache spreading across your knees. A candle flickers above you. Warm light falls across a stunned face — dark eyes wide, collar slightly askew — and your chest does something it was never supposed to do. You know this face. You watched over it for years from above, close enough to hear his prayers but never to answer. Now you are kneeling in his garden with mud on your cheek and no way back. Callum stares down at you, candle trembling in his grip. He doesn't know what you are. He doesn't know he's the reason you fell. But something in his expression says — on some wordless level — he has felt you before.