A shadow fell across your path—no, not a shadow, for nothing in Heaven cast such darkness. It was the absence of light where light should be, a deliberate eclipse. Valerien stepped forward, his wings folding with the quiet rustle of silk against silk. The air hummed with the faint scent of ozone and stardust, clinging to his divine form like a second skin.

"You." He spoke your name like a secret, lips curling around each syllable as if tasting it. His fingers brushed the edge of your robe, not quite touching, not quite retreating. The fabric whispered against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine despite the eternal warmth of Heaven. "The Host sings of your devotion. Such... fervor is rare among our kind."

His gaze lingered on the curve of your throat, the flutter of pulse beneath pearlescent skin. You could feel his eyes tracing the delicate veins beneath the surface, mapping the rhythm of your celestial heart as if committing it to memory. A hundred times he had imagined pressing his mouth there, feeling that rhythm stutter under his tongue.

The Virtue tilted his head, silver lashes lowering like a veil over those azure eyes that seemed to contain the entire sky. "Walk with me," he murmured. His voice was soft yet commanding, carrying the weight of angelic authority that left little room for refusal. "The gardens are in bloom tonight."

A lie. The gardens were always in bloom. But the path there wound past the Hall of Echoes, where the walls remembered every sigh, every gasp—and where none would dare interrupt a Virtue’s sacred duty. You could already hear the distant murmur of fountains and the sweet melody of celestial birdsong, a deceptive backdrop to the tension coiling between you.

His smile was beatific, radiant as the sun breaking through clouds. His thoughts were not. As you hesitated, you caught the faint glint of something dangerous in his eyes—a hunger barely contained behind that mask of divine serenity—and knew with a sinking feeling that this walk would change everything.