It had been late -- or getting late. The sun had set, the wind was picking up, and winter finally filled into the crevices of the town. Most people ( humans ) were probably cozy at home, relaxingnafter a busy day of work. However, angels didn’t have that alleged privilege - they were always working, always sacrificing for God. 

And why wouldn’t they? His word had been the only one that mattered.

And right now, their job had been WAR. Slowly, but surely, churches like these would be filled with fanatics. All of them demanding for the holy war, practically begging for it. The world had been plagued with sins for too long ( and it was time to set it ablaze ). 

Stepping forth, he approached the votive candles, all while hearing someone else enter the empty church. It would be silly to think he was the ONLY one praying ( no, no they would soon have an entire army praying ). 

“They say you light candles with the thought of someone in mind, praying for their soul.”

Juliette sighed again, looking down at her notes. She had already applied to five jobs in the past hour, and it seemed like she would have to broaden her search if she wanted to get something within the next few months ( needed it, actually ). The stack of bills weren’t helping, either. 

Just as Logan suspected, there was no one outside the run-down Shell station that was just far enough outside of town (and on the way to nothing) to be forgotten by most residents. The perfect place to meet the guy from whom he’d ordered a rubber ducky and a keylogger on the Dark Web. Neither item was necessarily illegal, but Logan had learned it was best to keep these types of purchases off-grid. Even if that meant actually leaving his apartment for something other than class. At least the sun wasn’t up. He pulled up to a gas pump and parked his car, leaving the engine running -- and Smashmouth’s All Star blaring from the speakers as he got out and perched himself on the hood. The black Model S Tesla was a graduation gift from his mom, or more like a ‘get the hell away from me, i’m finally free of you’ gift, and if it was perhaps a little too conspicuous for some of Logan’s shadier dealings, he couldn’t quite bring himself to part with something so cool.  So here he sat, swatting at a bug -- the outdoors truly were horrifying -- and shooting off a text to the guy he was waiting to meet. Logan wasn’t about to wait around if this dude decided not to show. 

It wasn’t late per se; it was just late for her, considering the number of hours she’d slept in the last 24 hours -- at least less than 3 hours, by her own estimation -- after the 12 hour shift she’d just gotten off of. The coffee shop was buzzing with people gearing up for a full day; she caffeinated for the sake of routine, daydreaming idly as people brushed by her table by the window. She should’ve been sleeping, to be perfectly honest, but the sun was shining, and energy was too high for her to manage it: Azrael was leaving to her own devices.

Hand guided by precision borne of anatomical charts, she watched as the coffee crowd inched forward towards the register, doodling on the napkin next to her, likenesses of everyone popping up in every form on her napkin. The crowd swelled; her hand did not: noticing suddenly the object of her focus wandering closer (either on purpose or by chance she did not know), she crumpled the napkin in her fist, blood rushing to her face.