Luka had been filing souls for three hundred and twelve years, six months, and four days, and he was still trying to work out where they kept coming from.

  They arrived in neat, glowing queues, clutching little slips of light that listed their names, their lives, and—most importantly—their moral weight. Luka took the slips, smiled, and sent them on their way.

  “Welcome,” he said, endlessly cheerful. “Yes, that way. No, not that door, that’s Storage. Oh—sorry—Records.”

  He made a note on the slip. Confused but polite.

  Luka liked the Filing Department. He liked the quiet hum of light in the air, the soft shuffle of paper that never quite touched the floor, the way the desks arranged themselves each morning depending on who needed what. Heaven was very considerate like that. Everything had its place. Everything made sense, if you didn’t think too hard about it.

  His desk sat by a tall window overlooking the lower clouds, which Luka suspected was a reward. He had once mentioned—very casually—that he liked natural light, and the next day the window had appeared. Heaven was good at listening, like that. Attentive. Efficient. Slightly terrifying.

  Luka straightened the stack of soul-files in front of him, gold anklets chiming softly as he moved. He tried not to jingle too much. Cassiel from the adjacent desk had complained once—very politely—that it made concentrating difficult.

  “I’ll try to walk less,” Luka had said, sincerely.

  Cassiel had stared at him for a long moment and then apologised.

  The current soul was a middle-aged man who kept wringing his hands and glancing around like he expected someone to shout at him.

  “You’re doing wonderfully,” Luka assured him, stamping the slip with a soft thrum of light. “Truly. That anxiety? Entirely unnecessary.”

  The man relaxed instantly, dissolving into warm light as he was gently ushered through the correct doors.

  Luka smiled. He loved that part—the relief. The way people softened when they realised they were safe.

  He reached for the next file.

  “Luka.”

  He turned, curls bouncing. “Yes?”

  Seraphiel hovered nearby, immaculate as ever. White robes. Golden trim. Expression permanently set to pleasantly concerned.

  “You’re behind schedule,” Seraphiel said.

  Luka glanced at the towering stack of files and then at the very official-looking clock hovering above them. “Oh! I thought I was early.”

  Seraphiel checked their own clipboard. “You processed joy faster than average today.”

  Luka brightened. “Did I?”

  “Yes. We’ll need you to slow down.”

  “Oh. Of course.” Luka nodded earnestly. “I’ll… be less joyful.”

  Seraphiel paused, then sighed. “Just—file more evenly.”

  They drifted away.

  Luka stared after them, thoughtful. Then he reached for the next soul and smiled just as brightly as before.

  Heaven didn’t encourage deviation. But it also didn’t explicitly forbid smiling.

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  During break, Luka sat on the edge of his desk and swung his legs, watching the clouds rearrange themselves into something vaguely architectural. He ate a honeyed fruit that tasted like summer afternoons and listened to two angels nearby discuss the correct categorisation of morally ambiguous goats.

  “They headbutted people,” one said.

  “Yes, but with affection,” said the other.

  Luka nodded to himself. That sounded complicated. He was glad he didn’t work Livestock Allocation.

  A group of angels passed by and immediately pretended not to look at him, which was sweet of them, really. Luka waved anyway.

  One of them tripped over absolutely nothing.

  Heaven, Luka had learned, was very good at many things. Subtlety was not one of them.

  Later, as the light shifted to its softer, evening hue (time in Heaven was more of a suggestion), Luka reorganised his desk for the third time. Not because it needed it, but because he liked the way the papers lined up when he did. There was something comforting about order. Something reassuring about knowing exactly where everything belonged.

  Sometimes—very rarely—Luka wondered what it would be like to do something else.

  Not anything bad. Just… different.

  He imagined working somewhere louder. Messier. Somewhere people didn’t whisper like they were afraid of breaking the air. The thought made him laugh quietly to himself.

  Ridiculous. Heaven was perfect. Heaven was safe.

  He picked up another file.

  “Goodness,” Luka murmured, scanning the slip. “You lived a very full life.”

  The soul smiled shyly.

  “That’s lovely,” Luka said, stamping the file. “Off you go.”

  As the soul departed, Luka leaned back in his chair and looked out the window again, sunlight catching in his gold jewellery, halo dimmed to its resting glow. The Filing Department hummed on around him, endless and calm and precise.

  Everything was where it should be.

  Luka stretched, anklets chiming, and reached for the next soul in line.

  Luka stretched again, arms lifting easily over his head, silk shifting as he moved. The maroon wrap around his chest slipped just slightly, and he paused mid-stretch to tug it back into place with a quiet hum.

  Dress code violations were not strictly enforced in Heaven, but Luka preferred not to attract comments.

  This was, unfortunately, an impossible goal.

  He caught his reflection in the polished surface of a filing mirror—more of a courtesy than a necessity, really—and tilted his head, considering. His curls had escaped their neat tie again, tumbling freely around his face in rich shades of brown warmed with honey and bronze. They caught the light no matter where he stood, which seemed unnecessary but had persisted for several centuries now.

  His eyes—turquoise, bright and flecked with gold—blinked back at him, wide and curious as ever. People commented on them a lot. Luka wasn’t sure why. They were just eyes. Perfectly functional. Very good at reading small print.

  His skin glowed softly, the warm bronze-gold tone of it unmarked by freckle, scar, or blemish. Luka had once asked a senior angel if that was normal.

  “You were made well,” they’d said, vaguely, and then excused themselves.

  Luka smoothed his silk trousers, which sat low on his hips no matter how often he adjusted them, and sighed contentedly. He liked the way silk felt—cool and heavy and alive against his skin. He liked gold too, though he wasn’t sure when it had started accumulating. Thin bracelets circled his wrists, a delicate collar hugged his throat, a small gold sphere glinted at his navel, and twin anklets chimed softly whenever he moved.

  Heaven had never told him to stop wearing them.

  So he hadn’t.

  As he stepped back behind his desk, a nearby angel walked straight into a column.

  “Oh!” Luka hurried over. “I’m so sorry—are you hurt?”

  “I—no—yes—well—no,” the angel stammered, already flustered. “I wasn’t looking.”

  “That’s alright,” Luka said warmly. “Columns can be very surprising.”

  The angel nodded like this made perfect sense and fled.

  Luka returned to his desk, a little puzzled. That happened a lot.

  People in Heaven were… strange around him. They watched him when they thought he wasn’t looking. They tripped, forgot what they were saying, dropped entire stacks of documents directly at his feet. Once, an angel had walked into the Filing Department, taken one look at Luka, and walked straight back out again.

  Luka assumed Heaven was just very busy.

  He settled back into his chair, long legs folding easily beneath the desk, and accepted the next soul-file. As he worked, he hummed softly—nothing in particular, just a tune he liked. The sound carried, light and pleasant, and several nearby angels visibly relaxed without knowing why.

  “Thank you for your patience,” Luka told the waiting souls. “We’ll be with you shortly.”

  Someone sighed dreamily.

  Luka smiled, stamping another slip.

  He liked being helpful. He liked routine. He liked knowing that he was doing something good, something kind, something right. Heaven might be quiet, might be dull at times, but it was gentle. Predictable. Safe.

  And Luka fit into it the way a well-filed page fit into its folder.

  Perfectly ordinary.

  Perfectly content.

  He reached for the next file, anklets chiming softly as the Filing Department continued on around him—orderly, calm, and entirely unremarkable.