Dawn came slow and grey, dragging pale light across the soaked rooftops. The storm had passed, leaving behind dripping gutters and scattered leaves stuck to windowpanes. The city below woke in pieces—lights flickering on in silent apartments, buses rumbling down slick streets, coffee shops opening their shutters to the faint morning chill.
Michael stood on the same rooftop, eyes closed, feeling the cold breeze brush his rain-soaked hair back from his forehead. His shirt clung to his chest, heavy with water. He didn't care. He'd stood through worse storms.
He felt Raphael arrive before he heard him.
A gentle shift in the air. The smell of clean wind after rain.
Michael opened his eyes.
Raphael landed softly a few steps behind him, wings folding into his skin as he approached. His expression was calm, eyes tired but focused. Neither spoke at first. They just stood there together, watching as the city woke up under bruised clouds.
