Ren stared at her, completely blank. "Why are you asking me that? Aren't you an angel too? Don't you know something we can do?"
Luxy blinked, then actually laughed—a dry, humorless sound. "Correction. Fallen angel."
Ren frowned. "…What difference does that make?"
"It makes all the difference." Luxy sat cross-legged on the floor, her blonde hair messy and her oversized shirt sliding off one shoulder. She tapped the back where only a single wing sprouted, ragged and faintly glowing. "Our wings… they're our identification. Our brand, you could say. Angels recognize each other through them. Since I've only got one left, the other angel will have trouble finding us immediately."
Ren rubbed the back of his neck, still gripping the kitchen knife loosely. "So… we're safe. For now."
"Somewhat safe," Luxy corrected, wagging her finger. "Don't relax too much."
Ren blew out a breath and dropped onto the bed. "Alright, fine, then tell me—can you beat this angel?"
