Luka woke to heat.

  Not the gentle, ambient warmth of Heaven—the kind that settled into your bones and never demanded attention—but something heavier, thicker, pressing in on him from all sides. The air clung to his skin, damp and smoky, carrying unfamiliar scents that made his nose sting: metal, ash, sugar burned too long, something sharp and bitter beneath it all. When he inhaled, it scratched at his throat like he wasn’t meant to breathe it.

  He pushed himself upright slowly, silk sticking uncomfortably to his body, fingers trembling as they slid against ground that was not cloudstone. This surface was solid in an unsettling way—dark, uneven, faintly warm beneath his palms, veined with glowing cracks that pulsed lazily like embers beneath skin. Luka gasped softly and pulled his hand back, clutching it to his chest as his heart began to race.

  This wasn’t Heaven.

  The sky alone told him that.

  Above him stretched an endless canopy of deep crimson and bruised violet, streaked with gold and black like an open wound that refused to heal. There was no sun, no moon, no comforting constellations Luka could name. Light existed here without a source, casting long, warped shadows that shifted when nothing moved. Tall structures loomed in the distance—jagged towers, crooked spires, bridges that arched impossibly across empty air.

  Luka’s breath hitched.

  “Oh,” he whispered, small and lost.

  He stood on unsteady legs, gold anklets chiming softly with the movement, the sound heartbreakingly delicate in a place that swallowed noise without effort. His curls were still damp, clinging to his face and shoulders, silk trousers hanging low on his hips, soaked and heavy. His bare feet felt every uneven edge of the street, every pulse of heat beneath the stone, and he flinched with each step as if the ground itself might bite him.

  He didn’t know where to go.

  So he walked.

  The streets of Hell were alive in a way Heaven never had been. Creatures moved through them—some tall and horned, others hunched and crawling, shadows that detached themselves from walls and rejoined them moments later. Laughter echoed, harsh and jagged, mingling with shouting, bargaining, the clang of metal and the hiss of steam. Somewhere nearby, something screamed—not in pain, Luka thought with a sick twist of his stomach, but in delight.

  Every eye that landed on him lingered too long.

  Luka hugged his arms around himself instinctively, posture folding inward as if he could make himself smaller, less noticeable. He felt wrong here, painfully so—too bright, too clean, too soft. His skin glowed faintly in the infernal light, bronzed and unmarked, his turquoise eyes wide and glassy with fear. The gold adorning him caught the light with every movement, making him shimmer like a fallen star dragged through ash.

  Whispers followed him.

  Not loud enough to understand. Not kind enough to ignore.

  Luka’s steps faltered, his breathing shallow now as panic crept in properly, curling tight around his ribs. He wanted a desk. A stack of files. The soft hum of organised eternity. He wanted Cassiel’s disapproving looks and the familiar ache of boredom. He wanted anything that made sense.

  “Excuse me,” he tried softly, stopping near what looked like a stall carved into black stone, its surface piled with glittering objects that twitched when he looked too closely. The creature behind it turned, eyes glowing faintly.

  Luka swallowed. “I—um—I think I’m lost.”

  The creature stared.

  Then it smiled.

  Luka backed away immediately, heart hammering, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. He turned blindly down another street, then another, the paths twisting and bending in ways that made no logical sense. The architecture seemed to rearrange itself when he wasn’t looking, corridors narrowing, buildings leaning closer like they wanted to hear him breathe.

  Tears blurred his vision.

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  “I didn’t mean to come here,” he whispered to no one, voice shaking. “I’ll leave. I promise I will. I just need to know how.”

  No one answered.

  A group passed him—demons, he assumed—one of them laughing loudly as their gaze dragged slowly over Luka from head to toe. Luka flinched and hurried on, silk whispering against his skin, the sound suddenly too loud, too noticeable. He felt exposed in a way he had never experienced before, as though the world could see through him, could tell exactly how little he understood.

  His chest ached.

  Every step took him further from the Heaven he had known, deeper into a place that did not care about kindness or innocence or rules carefully followed. The longer he walked, the more his fear softened into something quieter and more dangerous—a fragile, trembling confusion.

  Had he done something unforgivable?

  Luka stopped in the middle of the street, shoulders shaking as he pressed his fists to his eyes, trying and failing to stop himself from crying. His gold collar felt suddenly too tight, the silk too thin, the world far too large.

  “I just wanted to be good,” he whispered, voice breaking completely.

  He couldn't show weakness. Luka had no idea what Hell could do to him, but he was certain that if he wasn't careful he'd get chewed up an spat out within the hour. Wiping his tears with hands that shook, Luka tried to navigate his way through the winding streets. Luka swore the streets changed though - a left turn mysteriously became a right, a narrow alley widened into a spacious courtyard. Nevertheless, Luka trudged onwards, his steps purposeful though he had no idea where he was going.

  The street opened suddenly, spilling Luka into noise.

  Not the scattered chaos of the lower roads, but something vast and alive—a marketplace stretching farther than he could see, folding in on itself in winding rows and hanging bridges, stalls stacked atop stalls, lanterns strung between crooked poles like captive stars. The air was thick with heat and scent, overwhelming in a way that made Luka stop short, breath catching in his throat.

  It smelled like everything at once, sounded like everything he'd never heard of, looked like something the angels in the filing department would hate to be near.

  Sugar caramelised too far, spices sharp enough to sting his eyes, smoke from open grills where something unfamiliar sizzled and hissed, metal hot from forging, incense that curled heavy and sweet in the air. Sounds crashed over him in waves—shouting, laughing, snarling bargains, the clatter of coins, the scrape of claws on stone. Demons crowded every inch of space, bodies brushing, wings folded tight, tails flicking irritably as arguments broke out and dissolved just as quickly.

  Luka stood there, wide-eyed.

  Despite the fear still clinging to his ribs, awe crept in uninvited. Heaven had been quiet. Ordered. Predictable. This—this was alive. Colours blazed everywhere: fabrics dyed in impossible hues, gems glowing faintly with inner light, bottles filled with liquids that moved on their own. Music threaded through the chaos from somewhere unseen, discordant but oddly compelling.

  He moved slowly, careful not to bump anyone, bare feet padding softly over warm stone as he wandered deeper into the market. His gold anklets chimed faintly with every step, a sound far too gentle for the place, earning him more than a few lingering looks. Luka didn’t notice. He was too busy staring.

  A stall overflowed with sweets twisted into elaborate shapes, sugar spun into skulls and flowers alike. Another displayed rows of charms and talismans that pulsed softly, whispering things Luka couldn’t quite hear. He paused at a vendor selling spices piled high in open sacks, mesmerised by the way they shimmered—reds, golds, deep greens—each one smelling sharper and richer than anything he had known.

  “It’s beautiful,” he murmured before he could stop himself.

  The vendor stared at him like he’d spoken a foreign language.

  Luka flushed and hurried on, curls bouncing as he ducked through gaps in the crowd, silk brushing warm bodies and rough fabrics. No one made space for him, but no one shoved him either—not yet. He clutched the edge of his maroon wrap instinctively, feeling too exposed, too visible, his skin glowing faintly beneath the infernal light.

  Then—

  “Watch it!”

  A sharp shove rippled through the crowd nearby, followed by a metallic clatter as something hit the ground.

  Luka turned just in time to see an old demon lady stumble, her hunched form nearly going down as a much larger demon barreled past without looking back. Her bag—leather worn smooth with age—had spilled open, its contents scattering across the stone.

  Charm bracelets.

  Dozens of them.

  They clinked and rolled in every direction, delicate chains tangled with beads and tiny dangling symbols that glimmered faintly as they skittered across the ground. The old demon hissed in frustration, claws scraping uselessly as she tried to crouch, her joints stiff, her wings ragged at the edges.

  “Oh—!” Luka gasped.

  He didn’t think.

  He ducked immediately, dropping to his knees without hesitation, silk soaking against the warm stone as he reached out, hands moving quickly and carefully. “I’m sorry—here, let me help—please don’t worry, I’ve got them—”

  The world seemed to pause.

  Luka gathered the bracelets gently, fingers deft and unhurried, untangling chains with practised patience. He smiled up at the old demon lady, eyes bright and earnest despite the lingering red around them from crying.

  “They’re really pretty,” he said softly, offering her a small pile in his palms. “Do they mean something?”

  The old demon stared at him.

  Not confused.

  Stunned.

  Around them, the marketplace shifted. Conversations dipped. Eyes turned. A ripple of attention spread outward as demons noticed what was happening—not the dropped charms, not the shove—

  The help.

  Luka, oblivious, continued collecting the scattered bracelets, crawling a little to retrieve one that had rolled beneath a stall. “Oh! This one nearly escaped,” he laughed quietly, holding it up before adding it to the rest.

  Helping without demanding payment.

  Helping without marking a debt.