Page 47 of Eclipse Born

He kissed the side of my head. “I missed you.”

I closed my eyes. I wanted to say it back. I wanted to mean it.

But the truth was, I couldn’t remember missing him. Couldn’t remember anything from that place. Just a blank space where I should’ve felt something. It scared the hell out of me.

So I said, “I’m here now,” and hoped it was enough.

He nodded like it was. Maybe for him, it was.

For me, I didn’t know. But in this moment, with him, I could pretend. I could let the silence stretch. I could listen to the city outside the window, the hum of life and chaos and everything waiting for us beyond this bed.

For now, I stayed. Wrapped in heat and sweat and the steady thrum of his heartbeat against my chest.

For now, that was all I had.

Later, the shower was filled with steam, laughter, and stolen kisses. The tension in my body, the weight of the past few days, washed away with the water. Sean pushed me against the cool tile, our bodies sliding together under the spray, and for a little while longer, I could pretend everything was normal. That I'd just returned from a long hunt, not clawed my way out of hell.

Water slid down Sean's back, tracing the lines of old scars and new. I mapped them with my hands, learning the changes in his body—the increased muscle in his shoulders, the way he favored his left side now, the new roughness to his hands.

“Stop thinking so hard,” Sean murmured against my neck, biting down gently. “You're back. That's all that matters.”

I nodded, but the unease lingered. Was I back? All of me? The question haunted me even as Sean's hands drove all coherent thought from my mind.

Breakfast was routine—pancakes, eggs, coffee strong enough to wake the dead. Sean moved easily through the kitchen, flipping pancakes with practiced ease. The domesticity was striking against the backdrop of our blood-soaked lives. Somehow, we'd carved out this small pocket of normalcy in the middle of a supernatural war.

I watched from the doorway, coffee mug cradled in my hands. Sean hummed as he cooked, some classic rock song I half-recognized. The scene felt like a photograph from someone else's life—warm, ordinary, safe. It sat at odds with the lingering sensation of wrongness that followed me like a shadow.

“You gonna stand there all day, or you gonna help?” Sean called over his shoulder, a smile in his voice.

I moved forward, setting my mug down. “Depends. You gonna burn the bacon again?”

“That was one time,” Sean protested, pointing a spatula accusingly. “And if I recall, it was your fault for being distracting.”

The easy banter felt rehearsed, like we were playing roles we remembered but couldn't quite inhabit. Still, I made myself smile, made myself reach for the plates, made myself pretend that I felt the comfort this scene should bring.

We stepped into the dining area to find Skye already at the table, arms crossed, their dark hair pulled back in a messy bun, expression unreadable. I startled slightly—I hadn't heard them come in, which wasn't like me. Before hell, I'd have known the moment they stepped through the door.

“So, the weird guy in the living room? He left. Said he had something to do.” Skye's voice was casual, but their eyes were sharp, watching my reaction.

There was a beat of silence as Sean and I exchanged a look. Skye raised an eyebrow, waiting.

I nearly dropped my plate. “You let Cassiel just walk out?” The words came out harsher than I intended.

Skye blinked, taken aback by my reaction. “He seemed in a hurry. Said something about 'heavenly business' and then just...” They made a vague gesture with their hands. “Vanished. Like, literally vanished.”

Sean cursed under his breath, setting the platter of pancakes down with more force than necessary. “Perfect. Just what we need—our own personal angel going AWOL.”

I ran a hand through my still-damp hair, trying to quell the spike of anxiety. Cassiel was our only real lead on what was happening, on what the seals meant, on what I myself might be becoming. Without him, we were stumbling blind.

Skye blinked, eyes widening as understanding dawned. “...Cassiel? Like, the angel?” Their voice rose with each word, disbelief coloring their tone. “The freaky guy in the trench coat is an actual, literal angel?”

Sean snorted, sliding into a chair. “Welcome to our life.”

Skye stared at us both, mouth slightly open. “You're telling me angels are real. Angels. With wings and halos and—” They stopped, shaking their head. “No, wait. He didn't have wings. Or a halo. He just looked like some weird tax accountant.”

“The wings are there,” I said. “You just can't see them.”

I watched as Sean set Roxie's food down in a ceramic bowl painted with tiny fish. The Himalayan cat flicked her long, fluffy tail and began eating, entirely unimpressed by angelic affairs. Her blue eyes, striking against her cream-colored fur, held more disdain than I thought possible in a non-human creature.

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