———— Sera's room
Sera's bed was a tangled mess of silken sheets and thrashing limbs. Moonlight filtered through the blinds, casting silver slashes across her bare skin as she twisted beneath the covers. Her brow was damp with sweat, her breaths shallow and ragged.
In the dream, flames licked at the sky, hot and suffocating. The air reeked of burning feathers — blackened, charred wings littering the ground like fallen angels. Sera stood amidst the wreckage, her bare feet sinking into ashes, the heat searing her skin.
A man's voice echoed through the smoke, rough and broken. "Liliana! Don't leave me!"
The agony in his cry tore through her, cutting deep, a blade to her chest. Sera spun around, searching for him, but all she saw was blood. Blood on her hands. Blood pooling around her knees.
She looked down at herself — not Sera, but someone else. A woman with wide, terrified eyes, her dark hair matted against her pale skin, her body trembling as she knelt in the center of the battlefield.
"Liliana," the man's voice called again, closer now, desperate.
But before she could see his face, a shadow loomed over her. Michael. Cold. Pitiless. His celestial blade glowed white-hot, the light blinding, cutting through the darkness like a divine judgment.
Sera's heart pounded, each beat a deafening echo in her ears. Michael's eyes locked onto hers, and his lips twisted into a merciless sneer. The blade arced down — a flash of silver, a streak of fire.
Sera woke with a scream, her back arching off the bed, sweat-soaked sheets clinging to her body. Her chest heaved, the air thick and heavy, as if she were still drowning in that field of blood and feathers.
The room was dark, the silence suffocating. Her pulse hammered beneath her skin, and she pressed a shaking hand to her chest, feeling the wild rhythm of her heart.
"Liliana," she whispered, her voice raw, the name tumbling from her lips unbidden. It felt foreign. Wrong. And yet, it echoed inside her, haunting and familiar.
She ran a trembling hand through her hair, pushing the damp strands from her face. The man's voice still echoed in her ears, his anguish slicing through her like a blade.
Who the hell was Liliana? And why did that name feel like it belonged to her?
Downstairs, Haven thrums with life. The bass pounds through the floors, and the air is thick with smoke and sweat, the scent of spiced liquor and sinful whispers. Dancers grind against each other beneath the pulsing lights, bodies pressed together in a slow, rhythmic sway.
Sera stands behind the bar, her hands braced against the counter, knuckles white. Her eyes are shadowed, dark circles smudged beneath them. Despite the chaos around her, her mind is far away — still tangled in that dream, that battlefield of fire and blood.
"Sera," Nix's voice cuts through the din. He leans against the bar beside her, eyes sharp. "You look like death. You okay?"
Sera jerks at the sound, her jaw tight. "I'm fine," she snaps, the words sharper than she intended.
Nix raises a brow, unbothered. "Right. You look it."
Guilt prickles beneath her skin. Sera forces a breath, unclenching her fists. "I just didn't sleep well," she mutters, her gaze sliding away.
Before Nix can press further, a soft voice interrupts. "Sera?"
Sera turns to find Alicia, the mortal woman from earlier. Alicia is biting her lower lip, her cheeks flushed, eyes downcast. "I just… wanted to thank you," she says, voice small. "For what you did earlier."
Sera forces a tight smile, but her mind is elsewhere. "Don't mention it," she says, brushing Alicia off with a wave of her hand.
Alicia nods, lingering for a moment, then drifts back into the crowd.
Sera watches her go, her pulse still thrumming too fast. She swipes a glass off the counter, tossing back a shot of something bitter and burning. The alcohol sears down her throat, but it does nothing to quiet the images flashing behind her eyes — Michael's blade, the battlefield, the man's scream.
The memory slams through her, sudden and visceral. The scent of smoke. The heat of flames. The echo of that voice, calling her name —
Her gaze lifts, and that's when she sees him.
By the bar, dark hair tousled, eyes like twin storms. Lucifer. He's leaning casually against the counter, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his gaze fixed solely on her.
The crowd swirls around him, oblivious, but to Sera, he is the only one in the room. The music fades to a low, throbbing hum. Their eyes lock.
Time slows.
Something inside her twists violently, a white-hot surge of anger and confusion. The battlefield flashes before her eyes — feathers burning, blood pooling, the man screaming her name —
She blinks. The image is gone.
Lucifer's expression is tense, his jaw clenched, eyes dark and unreadable. For a moment, Sera can't breathe.
Who the hell is he?
She tears her gaze away, but the sensation lingers — the electric charge in the air, the sense that she's seen those eyes before, felt that stare a thousand times over.
Sera swallows, the glass trembling in her hand. But she doesn't dare look back. Not yet.
Sera slams the door behind her, the sound echoing through the office like a gunshot. The music from the club pulses beneath her feet, a relentless, throbbing beat that matches the rapid pounding of her heart.
She paces the room, her breath ragged, chest rising and falling as she tries to calm herself. But it's no use. The dream won't leave her — the burning feathers drifting through the air, the scent of smoke and blood thick on her tongue, the man's anguished scream that still reverberates through her skull.
Liliana!
Sera clenches her fists, nails digging into her palms, the sting grounding her. But the images won't stop. Michael's face looms in her mind, cold and merciless, his celestial blade glinting as it plunges down, slicing through flesh, through bone —
"Fuck," she mutters, striding to the cabinet. She jerks it open and grabs a bottle of whiskey, twisting off the cap with trembling hands. The glass is cool against her lips as she takes a long, burning drink, the liquid scorching down her throat.
But it doesn't drown the memories.
Sera slams the bottle down, the glass clinking against the wood. Her eyes dart to the desk drawer. Her fingers twitch. Before she can stop herself, she yanks it open and pulls out the feather.
It's long, blackened, the edges charred but never crumbling. It's old and twisted, as if it's been through hell — or maybe it once belonged to someone who has. Sera stares at it, her chest tight. The feather seems to shimmer in her palm, catching the dim light, and the moment she touches it, a sharp, searing heat shoots through her fingertips.
She hisses, almost drops it, but she doesn't. She can't.
Her eyes close, and the name slips from her lips like a prayer, soft and trembling. "Liliana."
The word hangs heavy in the air, echoing through the empty office. Sera's throat tightens, her chest aching with a hollow, aching emptiness she can't explain.
A knock sounds at the door, sharp and sudden, jerking her back to the present.
Sera shoves the feather back in the drawer, slamming it shut just as the door creaks open. Nix steps in, his eyes scanning her face, brow furrowed. "You okay, boss?"
Sera forces a tight smile, but her jaw is clenched, her muscles tense. "I'm fine," she snaps, the words coming out too fast, too harsh. "Just… tired."
Nix doesn't move. His gaze flicks to the closed drawer, then back to her, his jaw working as if he's holding back something. "You're not fine," he says, voice low and serious. "You've been off since that guy showed up. The one who looked at you like he knew you."
Sera's jaw clenches. Her pulse quickens, her skin prickling beneath her clothes. "I don't know him," she says, forcing her voice to stay steady, unaffected. "I don't."
Nix watches her for a long, heavy moment, then nods once. "Right."
When he leaves, Sera turns to the glass, catching her reflection — wild eyes, flushed cheeks, lips parted as if she's still gasping for air.
She reaches up, touching her face, her fingertips trembling. That man's eyes, the way he looked at her — with a longing so raw, so desperate, like he was staring at something he'd lost.
Why did he look at me like he'd lost me?
Sera squeezes her eyes shut, trying to block it all out. But that name still echoes in her head, a haunting, aching whisper.
Liliana.
Lucifer leans against the cold, brick wall, the alley cloaked in shadows. The wind whips through his dark hair, biting against his skin, but he doesn't move. His eyes are fixed on the window above, where Sera's shadow flickers behind the glass like a restless ghost.
Her presence is a palpable thing — a dark, electric current that pulses through the air, tugging at him, taunting him. She's up there, pacing, angry, confused, and he can feel every ounce of her frustration as if it's his own.
"You look pathetic," a voice drawls, smooth as silk and twice as sharp.
Azazel appears beside him, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed. His eyes gleam with cruel amusement, a wicked grin curving his lips. "Still sulking over the little succubus, huh?"
Lucifer doesn't answer. He keeps his eyes on Sera's window, jaw clenched, fists stuffed in the pockets of his coat. He can still feel her — the fury rolling off her in waves, the bitterness lacing her every breath. It hits him like a punch to the gut.
Azazel laughs softly, the sound low and taunting. "She's not Liliana anymore. She's just a demon now. A demon who hates you."
Lucifer's fists tighten in his pockets, nails biting into his palms. The words sting, cutting deeper than any blade. But he won't give Azazel the satisfaction of a reaction. Not tonight.
"You don't know anything," he mutters, his voice a low, dangerous rasp.
Azazel steps closer, his breath warm against Lucifer's ear. "Oh, but I do." He nods toward the window, where Sera's shadow paces back and forth like a caged animal. "She doesn't remember you, Lu. And she won't. Not unless you tell her the truth."
Lucifer's jaw ticks, dark power simmering just beneath the surface. Shadows coil around his body, writhing like angry serpents, the alley growing colder, darker, more oppressive.
"If I tell her the truth," he says, his voice deadly calm, "she'll hate me more than she already does."
Azazel chuckles, his eyes glittering with cruel delight. He leans in, his lips brushing against Lucifer's ear, his voice a dark, taunting whisper. "Or maybe she'll kill you. Wouldn't that be a fitting end?"
Lucifer's gaze snaps back to the window, his chest tight, his heart a heavy, aching weight in his chest. Sera's shadow pauses, her silhouette framed by the dim light, and for a split second, it almost looks like she's staring straight at him.
Lucifer swallows, throat thick, his eyes burning.
Better that she hates me than remembers what I did.
The words echo in his head, a cruel mantra, as he watches her shadow move away from the window and disappear into the darkness.
The room is steeped in shadows, the only light a faint, sickly glow filtering in from the streetlamp outside. Sera lies sprawled across her bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the echo of that dream still ricocheting through her mind.
The air is heavy, thick, pressing down on her like an invisible weight. Her chest rises and falls, each breath a ragged, shallow draw. Her fists clench against the sheets, nails digging into her palms, the sting a desperate anchor against the haunting images.
Michael's cold, pitiless eyes. The battlefield littered with burning feathers, each one smoldering with a dark, otherworldly fire. And that voice — that raw, broken scream tearing through the smoke.
"Liliana!"
Sera shudders, squeezing her eyes shut. The man's face flashes behind her eyelids — dark hair wild and tangled, eyes hollow and tortured. His hands reach for her, fingers smeared with blood, his expression twisted in agony.
"Liliana… please. Don't leave me."
Her heart pounds, the sound a deafening drumbeat in her ears. The voice is so familiar, the grief in it clawing at her chest. But the name — Liliana — sends a jolt of fear and confusion down her spine.
Sera's eyes snap open, staring into the darkness. A single tear slips free, sliding down her cheek, warm and wet.
"If that dream was a memory…" she whispers, her voice cracking. "Then who was the man who screamed my name?"
The room grows colder, a chill settling over her skin. The shadows press closer, curling around her like spectral hands, the silence swallowing her words.
Outside, in the alley beneath her window, Lucifer stands in the darkness, his hand pressed against the cool glass. His eyes are closed, his brow furrowed as if he can feel her pain through the wall.
The wind howls, whipping through the alley, tearing at his coat, but he doesn't move. Doesn't flinch.
Inside, Sera's whisper trembles through the air. "Who are you?"
Lucifer's jaw clenches, a tremor running through his body as he leans his forehead against the glass, eyes shut tight.
"I'm right here," he murmurs, his breath fogging the glass, his voice breaking. "And I'm never leaving you again."