The hotel had become a fortress by necessity, but Azrael knew fortresses eventually fell. Three days of holding the perimeter, three days of survivors streaming in with stories of angels hunting mortals who'd witnessed the battle, three days of watching his makeshift army struggle to protect people who had nowhere else to go.

He needed something better. Something hidden.

"The old district," Elena said, spreading a water-damaged map across the conference table. "Before the downtown ...