CHAPTER 19: HIDE AND SEEK

  Helel’s voice had already slipped into the dream before his footsteps ever followed it.

  “Suryel?” He called, tone low and smooth, playful in the way predators often sounded when they had already decided how the game would end.

  He leaned slightly into the word, tasting it. “Where are you hiding? Come out, come out. I promise I won’t bite.” He said sweetly but it came across as menacing glee.

  The promise had teeth.

  Helel stood beneath a flickering streetlamp, one hand tucked casually into his coat pocket, the other dragging along a wall layered in curling flyers and overlapping graffiti.

  His posture was relaxed, almost bored, but his attention was anything but. His gaze never stilled, sweeping the street in deliberate arcs.

  His head tilted slightly, listening not for sound, but for imbalance. For hesitation. For the subtle wrongness of breath held too long.

  Night had settled across the dreamscape in a way that felt staged.

  Sparse yellow streetlamps dotted the roads, their light pooling weakly across cracked pavement. Closed shops lined both sides of the street. Cafes with chairs stacked wrong, tables abandoned mid-use. Restaurants with menus still displayed behind fogged glass.

  Gray residential buildings stood shoulder to shoulder, windows dark, curtains unmoved.

  A copy of Suryel’s waking world.

  Minus the people.

  The emptiness pressed in wrong. Streets built for noise and movement lay suspended, like a memory paused mid-thought. Neon signs buzzed faintly, flickering without purpose, their light reflecting off nothing that could appreciate it.

  Doors remained locked not because they were closed, but because no one existed to open them. The place had been peeled hollow, stripped of its living weight, leaving only the shell of familiarity behind.

  And into those seams, something else had crept.

  Polyphemus moths clung to lampposts, window frames, and the undersides of signs. Dozens at first glance. Hundreds once the eyes adjusted.

  Their wings beat in uneven pulses, shedding powdery scales that drifted through the air like ash. Each wing bore blinking eyes that opened and closed in slow, asynchronous rhythms, tracking movement. Heat. Breath.

  Minion demons.

  They did not rush.

  They did not swarm.

  They watched.

  They listened.

  And they waited for Helel’s attention to land.

  “Helel is awake.” Yael warned silently.

  He knelt beside Suryel in the narrow space behind a café counter, fingers brushing through the dust coating the tiled floor.

  With practiced precision, he traced symbols into the grit.

  They glowed faintly, then dissolved, absorbed into the seams of the dream itself. The warning threaded upward, rewriting itself across realms until it reached the Archive Tower.

  Metatron would see it.

  And Azriel—

  Far above, within the Archive Library, something shifted.

  Azriel did not look up from the shelves. He did not pause his hands as he sorted luminous records back into place.

  But the air around him changed, pressure building the way it did before a storm broke. The lamps dimmed by a fraction. The silence deepened. Even Metatron’s pages rustled less.

  Helel was moving.

  Yael drew his cloak tighter around Suryel’s shoulders, layering concealment over concealment.

  His expression remained calm, steady, but his thoughts raced.

  ‘How can I keep her away from Helel?’

  The answer settled heavy in his chest.

  He couldn’t.

  Not forever.

  There were beings you could distract. Beings you could mislead. Beings you could redirect with cleverness and patience.

  And then there was Helel.

  He hunted by curiosity. By interest.

  By the simple refusal to let unanswered questions exist.

  They were hiding inside the café now. The air smelled of old coffee grounds and dust. Somewhere deeper inside, a cracked mug lay shattered on the floor, frozen mid-spill.

  Outside, chairs lay overturned along the sidewalk, as though their owners had fled mid-conversation. A chalkboard menu still listed daily specials in careful, looping handwriting.

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  The mundane details helped. They acted like camouflage, blurring the edges of presence.

  For now.

  Across the street, visible through the café’s grimy front window, Helel leaned into a bookstore display, peering through the glass with exaggerated interest.

  His reflection fractured across the surface, streetlight halos breaking his silhouette into distorted copies.

  Yael positioned himself where he could see both the street and Suryel. His gaze flicked from Helel to the moth-demons clinging to the walls, then back to her.

  Suryel crouched behind a massive plant box beside him, knees pulled in, hands braced against the floor.

  Her eyes sparkled when they met his.

  Not fear.

  Excitement.

  The rush of the chase lit her expression, trust woven into every breath she took near him. She mouthed nothing, but her face said it clearly.

  ‘This is fun. What’s next?’

  Yael nearly laughed. Nearly swore.

  She had always trusted him like this. Without hesitation. Without proof. The kind of trust that assumed safety because he was there.

  That trust terrified him more than demons ever had.

  “She is so lucky.” Yael thought, fatigue creeping into his limbs as he wiped sweat from his temple. “And I adore her.”

  Outside, Helel’s voice drifted closer, playful and sharp all at once.

  “At least she’s not afraid,” Yael murmured, relief softening his expression. He lifted his hand and gave a discreet signal.

  Go.

  Suryel nodded once.

  Then she ran.

  She slipped through the café’s back door, feet light, laughter trailing behind her as she vanished toward the nearest sanctuary point woven into the dreamscape. The sound echoed briefly, then dissolved into the empty streets.

  Yael exhaled.

  He closed his eyes.

  The transformation tore through him like cold fire. Light and shadow rewove his form, reshaping bone, breath, and posture.

  His lungs stuttered as his body recalibrated, muscles adjusting to mimic her weight, her urgency, her rhythm.

  When he opened his eyes, every second mattered.

  He stepped into the street and ran.

  Helel had stopped pretending to wait.

  He had already reached a conclusion, yet the answer kept slipping through his fingers, just out of reach.

  ‘Azriel.’ Helel thought, irritation sparking sharp and bright.

  ‘This has his fingerprints all over it.’

  Azriel always complicated things by caring. By hesitating. By refusing to treat humans like curiosities that burned out quickly.

  When the Angel of Death should have understood best how fleeting mortal lives were.

  Helel hated that.

  But unanswered questions irritated him far more.

  “Suryel.” He murmured, rolling her name across his tongue, savoring it.

  He remembered the expressions Michael, Gabriel, and Azriel wore earlier, standing together in rigid vigilance.

  “My favorite human is important.”

  Helel said aloud, a grin spreading as his thoughts aligned.

  “I’ll get my answers when I have her.”

  His fingers twitched.

  “I just need to pry her away from Yael.”

  A metallic clang shattered the quiet.

  A can skidded across the pavement, striking the curb near Helel’s feet.

  He turned instantly.

  The second can followed, thrown hard.

  Helel stepped aside without looking, the object whistling past where his head had been a moment before.

  His smile widened.

  “Oh.” He said softly. “Clever.”

  Suryel stood in the open street, glare fierce, posture coiled. She turned and ran.

  Helel didn’t chase. He walked.

  Hands tucked into his pockets, steps unhurried, he matched her pace effortlessly.

  He hummed under his breath, a tune without origin. Streetlights flickered in time with his stride. The moth-demons stilled, wings folding as if listening.

  Then he noticed it.

  The hesitation. The fraction of a second before each step. The instinctual misalignment.

  He stopped.

  In the next instant, he moved.

  He slammed the running figure against the wall, pinning them with ease. His eyes gleamed like rubies caught in moonlight as he leaned in, studying her face.

  “Suryel…” Helel said softly.

  Then louder. “No. Yael. I know it is you, brother.”

  His grip tightened. “Did you really think you could outwit me?”

  The eyes staring back shifted. Earth tones sharpened, burning into sulfur-bright embers. The illusion scorched away under Helel’s gaze.

  What remained was fury wrapped in light.

  “Hello, brother.” Yael said evenly.

  Helel glanced around, already bored with the truth in front of him. “Where is she?”

  Yael struggled, trying to slip free. “Leave her alone,” He snapped, panic bleeding through his control. “She needs to sleep. What are you planning?”

  “Oh, not much.” Helel replied brightly with a shrug. “Just some one-on-one quality time.”

  His grin sharpened. “In my lair.”

  Yael froze.

  Understanding slammed into him. The history. The implications.

  “That would kill her!” Yael hissed, shoving Helel back in a burst of light. “You wouldn’t.”

  Helel released him, arms spreading.

  “I know.” He said simply.

  Yael trembled, rage and terror tangling in his chest.

  Then he ran.

  Helel watched him go, smiling.

  “Run, little brother.” He called softly. “You’ll lead me.”

  He lifted his hand, framing Yael’s retreating form in his palm. “Right to who I want.”

  Author’s Note:

  This author held back an urge while writing: "Suryel~ Where are you hiding? Come out, come out~ I promise I won’t bite." Helel called out, voice low and smooth— LIKE A CRIMINAL. ??