The Seraph's radiance filled the abandoned subway station like liquid starlight, washing over broken concrete and rusted rails until they gleamed with impossible beauty. This was not the cold authority of the Throne that had attacked Azrael's apartment, nor the focused malice of Sariel's enforcement squad. This was something older, more primal—the raw essence of divine creation given form and purpose.

Maya pressed against Azrael's side, her phone still recording despite the fact that its ...