The place on the paper wasn't where Ethan expected.
He stood across the street from a closed-down church wedged between a pawn shop and a nail salon, its brick face blackened by decades of exhaust and neglect. The stained-glass windows were boarded over. The front doors were chained shut. A hand-painted sign leaned crookedly against the wall:
FOOD DRIVE — BACK ENTRANCE
It was late afternoon. The sky hung low and gray, heavy with the promise of rain.
Ethan checked the paper again. Same address. Same time. Same name.
Maya.
He shifted the bag on his shoulder. It still felt weightless, but he was learning that weight wasn't always physical. The farther he walked from the night he found it, the more he felt like he was carrying a secret that could collapse him if he stumbled.
He crossed the street and walked around back.
The alley behind the church was narrow and cluttered with dumpsters. A folding table had been set up near the rear door, stacked with paper bags of food. A small line of people waited patiently—some quiet, some talking softly, all of them tired in the same way Ethan recognized.
Behind the table stood a woman handing out bags.
She was not what he expected either.
She wore a faded jacket and jeans scuffed at the knees. Her hair was pulled back into a loose knot, dark strands escaping around her face. There was a bruise blooming yellow along her forearm, half-hidden by the sleeve she kept tugging down.
She moved with efficiency, but not detachment. She met each person's eyes. She listened. She smiled when it mattered.
Ethan stopped a few steps away, suddenly aware of how out of place he felt—like a man who had wandered into someone else's story.
Then she looked up.
For just a second, the world tilted.
Ethan didn't see wings. He didn't see light pouring from the sky or halos or fire.
What he felt was pressure.
A subtle, overwhelming presence that pressed against his chest and made his breath hitch. The air around her shimmered—not visibly, but in the way heat does when it distorts distance.
Her eyes met his.
They widened.
The woman's hand froze halfway through passing a food bag to the man in front of her.
Something flickered behind her gaze—recognition mixed with alarm.
She finished the motion quickly, murmured something to the man, then stepped away from the table.
She walked straight toward Ethan.
"You," she said quietly. "You shouldn't be here."
Ethan opened his mouth, then closed it again. He hadn't planned for this part. He hadn't planned for anything.
"I—I'm looking for someone," he said, holding up the paper like a shield. "Maya."
Her eyes dropped to the paper.
Her jaw tightened.
"That's me."
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
The bag against Ethan's back warmed.
Maya's gaze flicked to it, sharp and precise.
"What are you carrying?" she asked.
Ethan hesitated. Lying felt dangerous. Telling the truth felt worse.
"A bag," he said finally.
Her expression hardened.
"No," she said. "You're carrying a problem."
The air around them shifted.
Ethan felt it like static crawling up his arms.
"Come with me," Maya said, already turning toward the church's rear door. "Now. Before someone else notices."
"Notices what?" Ethan asked, but he followed her anyway.
She shot him a look over her shoulder.
"That you're glowing."
Ethan nearly tripped.
Inside, the church smelled like old wood and candle wax. The back room they entered was cramped, lit by a single flickering fluorescent bulb. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with donated clothes and canned food.
Maya shut the door and locked it.
Then she leaned against it and closed her eyes.
For a moment, she looked very tired.
When she opened them again, they burned.
"You don't know what you have," she said. It wasn't a question.
Ethan swallowed. "I know it's not normal."
"That's an understatement." She pushed off the door and stepped closer. "Where did you get it?"
"I found it," he said. "Under an overpass."
Her lips pressed together.
"Of course you did."
She circled him slowly, eyes never leaving the bag. Ethan felt like a stray animal being evaluated.
"You reached inside," she said.
"Yes."
"You didn't feel resistance?"
"No."
Her shoulders sagged just a fraction. "Then it chose you."
Ethan frowned. "Chose me for what?"
Maya stopped in front of him.
"For the same reason it always chooses," she said softly. "Because you were empty enough to fill."
Ethan flinched, though he didn't know why.
Before he could respond, something slammed into the church above them.
Dust rained from the ceiling. The fluorescent light flickered violently.
Maya's head snapped up.
"Too soon," she muttered.
Another impact—closer this time.
Ethan's heart began to pound.
"What was that?" he asked.
Maya's hands clenched into fists.
"That," she said, "is the sound of something that smelled your bag."
The air grew heavier, thicker, as if the room were sinking.
From outside came a sound like metal bending—and then a scream cut short.
Maya moved instantly.
She shrugged off her jacket and let it fall to the floor.
Ethan saw the armor before he understood what he was looking at.
Light unfolded around her—not blinding, but pure, layered like feathers made of fire. Plates of radiant gold and white formed along her arms and shoulders, locking into place with a sound like distant chimes. Symbols burned faintly across the metal, alive with meaning Ethan couldn't read.
Wings of light unfurled from her back—not solid, not illusion, but something between thought and matter.
Maya turned back to him, eyes blazing.
"Stay here," she said.
"What is that?" Ethan demanded.
She gave him a tight smile.
"Divine complication."
The wall behind her exploded inward.
Brick and dust burst into the room as a figure crashed through, landing in a crouch amid the debris.
It was tall. Too tall. Its skin was gray and stretched tight over a frame that bent wrong at the joints. Its mouth split wider than it should have, teeth like broken glass.
Its eyes locked onto Ethan.
The bag pulsed.
The thing hissed.
Maya moved.
She crossed the room faster than Ethan could track and struck it with a blow that rang like a bell. The creature flew backward through the shattered wall, crashing into the alley beyond.
Ethan stared.
"Angels are real," he breathed.
Maya didn't look at him.
"So are demons," she said, stepping toward the hole in the wall, light blazing around her. "And now that you've opened that bag, they're going to keep coming."
She glanced back over her shoulder, expression fierce and afraid all at once.
"And if you don't learn how to use it properly, you won't survive the week."
Outside, something roared.
Ethan felt the bag respond, warmth spreading across his spine like a living thing.
He clenched his fists.
For the first time since the overpass, he understood the truth.
The bag hadn't given him a way out.
It had given him a way in.
And the war had just found him.