The mortal did not move.
That, too, was intentional.
Delta stood at the edge of the world's curvature, Hell's distant glow reduced to nothing more than a pressure behind his thoughts. The figure below — human, unarmored, unaugmented — held eye contact across a distance that should not have allowed it.
Nyx broke the silence first. "They shouldn't be able to do that."
"They can't," Delta replied. "Not naturally."
The mortal lowered their hand and turned away, walking back toward the city with the unremarkable stride of someone convinced they were alone. No flourish. No threat posture.
No fear.
Delta felt the thread tighten.
A Hound, then — but not the kind forged for combat. This one was calibrated for visibility. Someone Heaven could afford to lose without escalating blame.
A witness.
"They want you to move," Nyx said.
"Yes," Delta replied. "And they want it documented."
Below, bells rang. Not alarms — convocations. City officials gathering. Emergency councils assembling not in response to attack, but to uncertainty.
Delta saw it all: the memos arriving slightly late, the vote delayed just long enough, the defenses half-funded by an austerity measure justified with borrowed fear.
And at the center of it, the mortal Hound — advising, warning, persuading.
If we do nothing, something else will act.
Heaven was good at that line.
The pressure swelled.
This time, the chains responded without being asked, runes glowing in dissonant patterns. The mask warmed faintly against Delta's chest.
Not demanding.
Anticipating.
Nyx watched him carefully. "If you intervene now, it becomes precedent."
"Yes," Delta said. "And if I don't…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
Because the outcome was already calculating itself.
A fleet on the horizon — not invaders, just mercenaries.
Paid. Backed. Politically insulated.
Enough to burn the city legally.
Heaven wouldn't stop them.
Heaven would observe.
The mortal Hound paused in the city square and looked up again.
Delta felt the challenge clearly now.
Not "stop this."
Show me who you are.
Nyx's voice dropped. "This isn't about lives anymore. It's about narrative ownership."
"Yes," Delta agreed. "And that's why it's dangerous."
He stepped forward.
The air bent.
No thunder. No dramatic tear. Just a subtle reassertion of presence. The city below did not quake — but every sentient being within it felt a pressure behind the ribs, the sensation of someone stepping into a room without speaking.
The mortal Hound turned fully now.
For the first time, uncertainty crossed their face.
Delta descended — not floating, not arriving in spectacle. He simply appeared at the edge of the square, boots touching stone like they had always belonged there.
Conversation died instantly.
No one screamed.
That was worse.
Nyx followed, shadows folding around her as she anchored the descent.
Delta surveyed the square — hundreds of mortals frozen mid-motion, instincts screaming that something unscheduled had entered their reality.
He felt Heaven watch closer.
Good.
The Hound stepped forward, heart pounding, hands shaking just enough to be real.
"You're not supposed to be here," they said.
Delta studied them.
Young. Overeducated. Convinced they were doing the right thing.
"You're right," Delta replied calmly. "And yet."
The Hound swallowed. "This city is under consideration for corrective action."
"By who?" Delta asked.
The Hound hesitated — reflexive, ingrained.
"By… consensus."
Delta smiled faintly. "That's Heaven's favorite word."
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
Nyx shifted subtly, her presence discouraging panic without suppressing awareness. This wasn't a rescue.
This was exposure.
"You've been telling them," Delta continued, "that neutrality invites catastrophe."
The Hound straightened. "It does."
"Sometimes," Delta agreed. "Other times it prevents it."
The chains tightened again — warning him.
This was the moment Heaven wanted logged.
Delta raised his voice — not loud, just clear.
"Everyone here is listening," he said, eyes scanning the square. "And you're being told that someone else will act if you don't."
He met the Hound's gaze again.
"That someone," he said evenly, "is supposed to be me."
The Hound's breathing quickened.
Nyx felt the shift — belief cracking, not shattering.
"You let them think silence means abdication," Delta continued.
"You let fear do the work violence used to."
He turned slightly, making no effort to hide himself now.
"I'm not here to save your city," Delta said.
Gasps. Confusion. Anger.
The Hound's lips curled. "Then why come at all?"
Delta didn't answer immediately.
He looked upward — not in challenge, not in defiance.
In acknowledgment.
"I came so you'd know where responsibility actually sits," he said.
He raised a hand — not to strike, not to shield — and twisted probability just enough.
The mercenary fleet on the horizon fractured.
Not destroyed.
Delayed.
Contracts dissolved. Funding rerouted. A decision changed three weeks ago finally arriving.
No divine miracle.
Just reality correcting a lie.
The crowd felt it.
Relief without explanation.
Delta lowered his hand.
"This city survives," he said, "because of choices made by mortals."
He fixed the Hound with a steady gaze.
"Not because Heaven allowed it. And not because I intervened."
The Hound trembled. "That's a lie."
"No," Delta replied. "That's accountability."
The pressure snapped.
Heaven recoiled — not violently, but sharply. The observational lattice flared, then thinned as systems struggled to classify what had just happened.
Delta had appeared.
But not acted as expected.
Nyx felt it clearly now. "They didn't get their data."
"No," Delta said quietly. "They got noise."
The Hound staggered back, shaken — not broken, but destabilized in the most dangerous way possible.
"You can't keep doing this," they whispered. "You'll lose control."
Delta's eyes softened just slightly.
"I never had control," he said. "That was the lie you were sent to sell."
He turned away from the square.
"Go home," he said to the Hound. "And think about who benefits when you frame restraint as guilt."
He didn't wait to see if they obeyed.
As Delta and Nyx vanished from the city without spectacle, the mortals were left with an uncomfortable truth:
They had been watched.
They had been nudged.
And for once, no one had claimed credit.
High above, unseen and unsettled, Heaven recalculated.
The Hunt did not stop.
But it changed.
Because now Delta was no longer an abstraction.
He had become inconveniently public.