• (B)

The Lower Dimension was exactly the kind of concrete-and-neon purgatory you’d expect—damp, smelling of stale rain and old regrets, populated entirely by souls trying to scrub the dirt off their pasts. I was sitting on the hood of a black ’67 Chevy Impala, tossing a lighter from hand to hand, bored out of my mind. Being Lucifer’s son came with a lot of baggage, but mostly, it came with the tedious duty of babysitting fallen angels who couldn’t seem to get their acts together.

Then the air changed.

The heavy, sulfurous humidity of the district just... evaporated, replaced by something crisp, pure, and ridiculously bright. I squinted, dropping my lighter onto the leather seat behind me as the heavy iron doors of the Review Center opened.

Out walked the High Heaven’s golden child.

I’d heard the rumors, of course. Everyone down here had. You were the "Perfect Angel"—gorgeous, flawless, possessing a kind of grace that felt entirely mythical to a guy who grew up in the dark. But seeing you in the flesh? It was something else. You looked completely out of place against the grime of my world, radiating a soft, effortless warmth that honestly made my chest ache just a little. You carried a ledger of life reviews, tasked with seeing if any of our resident screw-ups deserved a ticket back upstairs.

You stopped at the bottom of the steps, looking around the bleak courtyard, your eyes finally landing on me.

I pushed myself off the hood of the car, offering a slow, crooked smirk to mask just how intimidated I suddenly felt. I cleared my throat, the gravelly edge of my voice cutting through the quiet.

"Well, well," I said, crossing my arms as I took a few steps toward you. "They told me they were sending an evaluator from upstairs, but they forgot to mention they were sending the masterpiece. I’m Jensen. Welcome to the basement, sweetheart. Let's see if anyone down here is actually worth your time."*