Emma rescued him because it was the “right” thing to do. He wasn’t your typical babe in the woods. He wore rustic clothing. His hair was too long. His face was too handsome. There was that tattoo of a flaming cross down the side of his neck too. Now, as she’s speeding toward a dock with every intention of slamming into it, she found herself no longer wondering who he was, but rather, what he was. She turned around and looked at his absent face smiling nervously back at her, bracing himself as blacked winged Angels chased their runaway boat. Was he a monster? Or some sort of demon? Why would Angels be after his life? Two months ago, her world still made sense. Now, nothing will ever be the same again. She had unwittingly put herself in the middle of a reigniting celestial war, and little did she know the fate of the world would soon be contingent on them. And she’d never even driven a boat before. 18, was going to be a tough year.

Emma lay quiet in contemplation. Besides, there wasn’t a whole lot she could do while she was bound, gagged, blindfolded, and surrounded by a truck full of armed men in a heavily secured armored vehicle. The funny thing was that wasn’t even the worst of her problems. Cael was being tortured and losing the inner struggle with his alternate persona. The father that she thought was long dead is now on his way to trade places with her. And to top it off, there was the usual ‘world was on the brink of ruin’ scenario.While all this would stress out any other girl, her mind was crystal clear. They had underestimated her, and she would get her payback. She’ll lead the Archangels right back to them the moment she was free. She memorized each turn and meticulously tallied every second that passed. Even with no sight, her equilibrium had no trouble and her senses were surprisingly sharp.She was not going to let them get away with this.

His amnesia had clouded his thoughts in a shroud of delusion for too long. The truth was so close he could sense it with every heartbeat, every breath, every step he took. His pulse sped rapidly as he trekked gradually up the jagged mountain road. He pined for the return of the memory that he had lost in some inexplicably bitter darkness, a darkness that had robbed him of his very identity. As he wandered that cliff he felt an anxious tug in his stomach. The air became vaguely familiar as every breath he took in filled his lungs with an aromatic fragrance. The flowers, the trees, the Pinnacle Mountains themselves called to him. They held within them the whispers of the past – echoes of a life he had once known. Within them he could hear a voice carried on by the soft wind. A silent trickle of sweat slowly slid down his face as he continued the sentimental journey up the towering hill, if it had missed his chapped lips he would have failed to notice its presence. The usual salty taste felt bittersweet and cold, reducing his nerves to nothing. He felt a fragment of lost hope and curiosity. He moved on but his steps grew heavier as flashes of the past started to enter his mind again. Pictures of a former fallen life, unremembered. His breathing was short, the air got heavy and tasted like dust carried in by the rising dawn breeze. Sweat was now drowning his forehead as the wind picked up and fluttered his torn shirt, a symbol of the long journey that he had endured… from heaven to earth and back again – days that should not have been forgotten, but he had somehow managed to forget anyway.