Clark sat with his back pressed against the opposite wall and watched Michaela sleep. At least he hoped she slept this time. When she wasn’t thrashing around and shouting, she laid still as death, barely moving enough to breathe. It had been nearly a day since he had left her crying on the cot. When he had returned, she was unconscious once again.

Angels who came to Earth were still powerful, supernatural creatures only encased in a human body, but her recovery was eerie to witness. He had changed the bandages on her back a couple times before he realized his effort was worthless. The muscles pulled back across the bones, the blood vessels fused back together, the skin stretching back across the holes her wings had left. She seemed nearly healed now.

Clark must have fallen asleep again, because when he opened his eyes, Michaela was not on the cot. He jerked, thinking he’d lost her, but she was by the old, rusty mirror that hung alone on the empty wall of the cabin.

Clark was used to seeing her sleeping on the cot, weak and healing, so now, seeing her as a strong, able angel, terrified him. Her face was a dark cloud. In her murky reflection he saw her pupils were dilated, leaving only a slim midnight blue ring around them. He was frozen, staring at her like she might sprout a new pair of wings any moment. But that was impossible.

She slowly turned to see her back in the mirror. Clark wanted to tell her to stop, but it was too late. He didn’t see her reaction as she stared at the place where her wings should have been. It took a long moment, but when she looked away, her eyes landed right on him.

“Why are the Aethere blaming me? Why is no one telling the truth?” she demanded.

Clark gulped. Even the air seemed to cringe away from her. He tried to tell himself it was stupid to be afraid of her, but it didn’t help.

“Molloch’s death scared everyone. Like really bad,” Clark answered.

He watched her carefully, so he saw when her eyes landed on the thin, dark marks that weaved their way across her bicep and forearm. To Clark, the scars looked more like black ink had been dumped in her veins. Pausing, she ran a fingertip over the two deep holes in the crook of her elbow. She winced.

“I did kill Molloch. He died at my hand, and I will answer for that. I never should have gone outside the gates, but it all happened so fast. That was my whole world ripping apart too, not just the Aethere’s. I could never have planned an attack on Heaven. To betray Heaven would have been like ripping my own wings from my back. I never would have done that. I didn’t do that,” she whispered, eyes still on her arm.

They were both silent. Stiffly, Michaela paced across the tiny room. “I’m hiding because I’m being accused of something I didn’t do. The other Archangels are hiding because of what happened to Gabriel and Zarachiel,” Michaela paused. She leveled her gaze on Clark. “But why are you hiding?”

“I’m not technically hiding,” Clark evaded. His voice squeaked like a twelve-year-old boy going through puberty.

“But the Aethere have called me a traitor, which means the Descendants think the same. Yet you helped me instead of turning me in even though you’re the Keeper’s son. Clearly we are hiding.”

Clark shrugged.

“Why are you here?” Michaela pressed, impatient.

“I left, okay?” Clark snapped. He raked a hand through his hair and took a steadying breath. His voice returned to its normal bemused tone when he said, “It just wasn’t my thing.”

Clark ignored her doubtful expression. Turning, he dug around in his bag. When he had gone back to the compound, he grabbed clothes for both him and Michaela. It was a rare moment of insight and one he was proud of since she had been pacing around in a low slung, bug-chewed nightshirt. He hoped she didn’t mind skinny jeans.

“I brought some clothes for you,” he said, revealing a Def Leppard shirt with grease stains on it. Michaela looked at him then at the shirt.

“Thank you,” she said, but her voice lacked gratitude.

Clark handed over the shirt, a pair of jeans with minimal tearing, mismatched socks, and an old pair of hiking boots before turning around so she could change. He heard her drop the dirty, bloody shirt she wore onto the floor. It was impossible not to imagine her naked, and he coughed to rid the tickle in his throat.

“So what are we going to do?” When Michaela didn’t respond, Clark answered himself. “Well, we could go and talk to my father about this or something.”

“They won’t listen to us. Gold chains will be wrapped around me faster than you can blink. I’ll be gone, and you’ll be thrown in jail for deserting,” Michaela said as she got dressed.

“My dad wouldn’t do that.”

“You’re sure? I’m not.”

Clark thought about that for a moment. She was right, technically. As the Keeper, his father was responsible for the angels on Earth. If the Aethere told him the Archangels were fugitives, he would have to report it if he knew where one was. His father had always put the Descendants before family. It was the reason Clark hated him.

“I don’t know if there is anything we can do.” Michaela barely whispered the words, but Clark heard. His head snapped around. She looked at him, but seemed to stare straight through him. His eyes narrowed.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“I don’t think there is anything we can do.”

“Are you serious?” Clark shouted, forgetting about not pissing her off. “You’ve got to be kidding. What? You’re just going to let this one go? Let it slide this time? ‘Oh no biggie, Mr. Aethere. Sure take my spot in Heaven. Screw all the other angels. I’m just going to chill down here on Earth and play human. Have fun—’”

“I need to be alone,” Michaela said.

Before Clark processed her words, she rose and crossed the room in a single stride. He watched her leave through the front door with his mouth open. Then she was gone, and he stood in the cabin alone.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said. He jogged across the room and out the door just in time to see Michaela sprinting headlong into the thick woods surrounding the little cabin. He should just let her go. Who would be looking for her way out here?

Of course, he had found her drunk and wandering through the woods, guided only by his insomniac crazed dreams.

“Well, shit.” He started toward the woods slowly brightening with a new day and wondered how he would convince an angel to save herself.