Page 10 of Uriel
Uriel glances at me, a hint of pride in his eyes. “It serves its purpose.”
We enter a kitchen that looks like it belongs in a magazine spread. All gleaming stainless steel and marble countertops. It’s beautiful, but also strangely sterile. Like it’s never actually been used to cook a meal.
Uriel moves with practiced efficiency, pulling out a sleek coffee maker that probably cost more than my car. The domestic normalcy of it all—an archangel making coffee—is so surreal that I have to stifle another burst of hysterical laughter.
“How do you take it?” he asks, his back to me as he measures out grounds.
“Black,” I reply. “Strong enough to raise the dead.”
He pauses, turning to give me an odd look. “That would be my brother Raphael’s department, actually.”
It takes me a second to realize he’s made a joke. An honest-to-God joke. From Uriel, of all people. I can’t help the startled laugh that escapes me.
“Right,” I say, shaking my head. “I keep forgetting you guys are actually... you know. Real.”
Uriel’s expression softens almost imperceptibly. “It’s a lot to take in, I imagine.”
“You could say that,” I mutter, sinking into one of the high-backed chairs at the kitchen island. “Yesterday—well, I guess two days ago now—my biggest worry was getting chewed out for bending hospital regulations. Now I’m apparently part of some divine prophecy to save the world. It’s... a lot.”
Uriel slides a steaming mug of coffee in front of me. “I understand,” he says quietly. “This isn’t easy for me either.”
I look up, surprised by the admission. For a moment, I see past the stern exterior to the turmoil beneath. He’s as thrown by all this as I am, I realize. The thought is oddly comforting.
We sip our coffee in silence for a while, each lost in our own thoughts. The rich aroma fills the air, grounding me in the moment. It’s good coffee, I have to admit.
“So,” I finally say, setting down my mug. “What happens now?”
Uriel’s brow furrows. “I’m not entirely sure,” he admits. “The prophecy is... vague on the details.”
“Of course it is,” I sigh. “Because that would be too easy, right?”
A ghost of a smile flits across his face. “Indeed.”
Another silence falls, less awkward this time. I take the opportunity to really look at Uriel, to try to reconcile the stern administrator I’ve butted heads with so many times with the celestial being I now know him to be.
He’s handsome, in a classic, almost severe way. High cheekbones, a strong jaw, those piercing blue eyes. But there’ssomething more, something I can’t quite put my finger on. A sense of otherness, of power carefully contained.
“You’re staring,” he says, not looking up from his coffee.
I feel heat rise to my cheeks. “Sorry. It’s just... weird. Seeing you like this. In your home, I mean.”
He meets my gaze then, and I’m struck by the intensity in his eyes. “Is it so hard to believe I have a life outside the hospital?”
“Kind of, yeah,” I admit. “I always pictured you, I don’t know, powering down in a closet at night or something.”
Uriel actually chuckles at that, the sound rich and warm. It transforms his whole face, softening the hard lines. For a moment, I catch a glimpse of what he might have been like before... before whatever made him so rigid and rule-bound.
“I assure you, Ms. Thornton, I am quite capable of existing outside a professional setting.”
“Emilia,” I say suddenly. At his questioning look, I elaborate. “If we’re going to be... whatever this is, you should probably call me Emilia.”
He considers this for a moment, then nods. “Very well... Emilia.”
The way he says my name sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. There’s a weight to it, like he’s bestowing something precious.
The moment stretches, charged with something I can’t quite name. Then Uriel clears his throat, breaking the spell.
“We should discuss our next steps,” he says, all business once more. “The earthquakes may have stopped for now, but I doubt our respite will last long.”
