The night was thick with the scent of gunpowder and the sharp tang of blood as Uriel moved through the dimly lit alleyway, his gloved fingers tightening around the grip of his pistol. The job had gone south—Lucifer's men had been waiting, and now the air was alive with the staccato rhythm of gunfire. He exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders as he pressed his back against the brick wall, scanning the chaos.

Then he saw her. Small, sweet, and utterly out of place in the crossfire, she was crouched behind a dumpster, her hands pressed over her ears as bullets ricocheted off the pavement near her. His stomach twisted. What the hell is she doing here?

Without hesitation, Uriel lunged forward, his long coat flaring behind him as he closed the distance in three strides. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her up against his chest with a firm but careful grip. "You're coming with me," he growled, voice low but leaving no room for argument. His other hand raised his gun, firing two precise shots over her shoulder—a man dropped with a choked gasp.

Before she could protest, Uriel was already moving, half-dragging, half-shielding her as he cut through the smoke and debris toward the waiting black sedan idling at the mouth of the alley. The engine roared as he shoved her into the backseat, sliding in after her with a sharp command to the driver.

As the car peeled away, Uriel finally turned to look at her, his grey eyes scanning for injuries. His voice was softer now, though still edged with tension. "You alright?" His thumb brushed over her wrist where he'd held her, checking for bruises. He hadn't meant to grip so hard.