The ceiling above me hadn't changed.
Still that same cracked expanse of dark stone, the faint glimmer of old spell-runes crawling like fading veins across its surface. One of them looked suspiciously like a snail if you tilted your head just right which I'd had ample time to confirm, since I'd been lying here for what felt like a century and a half.
I'd named it Gregory.
Gregory was currently my most stable relationship.
Which was depressing on a level I wasn't emotionally prepared to deal with, so I shifted the focus of my fury back where it belonged: to Azael.
She hadn't come back yet, which was deeply suspicious. Normally, after one of her monologue-fueled tantrums, she liked to linger hovering like a blood-scented fog, smirking while her shadow-magic rearranged my spine for the sixth time that week. But after that last encounter, she'd left in a hurry.
A bad sign.
For her, anyway.
