John's fiancee stood from her chair without a word, her fingers brushing invisible dust off her skirt as she headed toward the stairs. Her heels made soft, deliberate clicks against the polished wood floor. I didn’t look up, not right away. I just sat there—still as stone—clutching the stem of my wine glass as the sound of her footsteps faded upward into silence. I leaned back on the couch and let my body sink into the worn leather, a long exhale slipping past my lips. My head dropped against the headrest, eyes lifting to the chandelier hanging from the ceiling—an elegant sprawl of crystals that glittered faintly in the low light. Its delicate brilliance was too pristine, too peaceful, for a night like this. My mind buzzed with thoughts that collided and tangled in my skull—memories of a war long past, fire licking the heavens, Lucifer’s cold smirk as he reached into my chest, the unbearable stillness of death… and now, this. A second life. Inhabiting the shell of a man whose life

We entered the living room again, and Cynthia didn’t slow down. She dropped onto the couch with practiced ease, legs crossed, eyes sharp—already in teacher mode. I lowered myself into the chair opposite her, still holding my coffee, the warmth grounding me as I prepared for whatever she had in mind.“Alright,” she began, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “First rule: John Henderson rarely talks unless he absolutely has to.”I tilted my head slightly. “Strong, silent type?”“No,” she said, shaking her head, “not just silent. Calculated. Every word had a reason. He wasn’t one for small talk. If someone was rambling, he’d either ignore them or stare at them until they shut up.”I smirked. “Sounds like a real joy at parties.”She ignored the comment. “Second rule—don’t ever let anyone think they’re above you. Doesn’t matter if it’s the director, a senior agent, or a supernatural being twice your size. John never backed down. He didn’t