## Emil POV He’s here. Inside me. A ghostly tangle of ivory and silk, suspended in the waters of my being. I wish I could keep him here forever. I wish I could be his home. But it is only wishful thinking. The nature of my environment—and, I’m sure, my self, my body, my existence—is at odds with him. I can feel him falling apart, day by day, thread by thread, particle by particle.  A few months. That’s the deadline Marsha gave me. Before any permanent damage is done. The current Chief Occultist of M.O.O., this poor 18-year-old perpetually under duress, suggested that a fallen angel’s blood might have restorative effects, before sheepishly expressing that the last thing she’d want was for the diner staff to hurt each other (again). I would rather not propose such a tall order to Aurelian, either. But, if the situation were to become dire, I would not hesitate to beg. She had kneeled down before me for less.  Speaking of Marsha, I think I recognize in her a familiar anguish. I, too, was 18 when everything in my world turned upside down. I have talked to Cherry on this topic. As much as I wish to help these girls, they seem stronger than me in many respects.  These girls… these girls. Maybe I’m overthinking it. In any case, best not to overstep any boundaries. What do I know about being young girls, anyway. The human part of Isha is only slightly older than these two, and she sure feels impenetrable to me recently. She has been avoiding everyone, and when I finally got a hold of her the other day, besides practical information such as the boundaries defining Marlowe—which I had to more or less beg for—all I got from her was a litany of anguish about having to focus and not rely on people, because she is a goddess and needs to do better than humans. It is not a good mindset given her current limitations, but I… don’t know how to convince her of that. Dr. Morosov would have an effective and deeply moving speech ready to go, I’m sure, but at the end of the day, I am my father’s son, not Dr. Morosov’s son. Dr. Morosov’s son is currently a ghost possessing me. To some extent, I do wish I could take on his better qualities, such as telling people what they need to hear when they need to hear it, even if it’s harsh. Apparently, something about his presence within me does manifest. From the way my eyes look in certain moments, according to Sandra, a new addition to our kitchen staff, and by all means a possession specialist thanks to her prior experiences with Pris; we are fellows, in a way. I decided she was trustworthy enough to tell the truth to. For now, I am grateful for her tips, and her sympathy. I hope I don’t come to regret this one day. Getting back to truly important matters, Marsha also told me that the family about to host the New Year Gala—which the whole core diner crew (except Jonny, but somehow I suspect he’d get himself in there anyway) had been invited to both cater for and attend as guests, thanks to that Tax Collector fellow—owned an artifact that could be of use to human souls.  Infiltrating a manor—I had done that before. But instead of paranoid bureaucrats, supernaturals would be swarming the place this time. I must prepare carefully. And part of it would be to look the part. Having little experience with proper suiting, I decided to ask Leslie for assistance. The first choice would have been the other devil—the one I’d known for decades. But I’d rather not spend time with him and only him at the moment. Surely, Leslie must be equally, if not more, well-equipped to help out. Even in diner uniform, he looked better than the rest of us. To my surprise, Leslie responded to my request readily. Despite being coworkers for a while now, I had not had a chance to get to know him, and I got the impression that he would rather not be known. So him agreeing to help, and being so attentive and thoughtful throughout the shopping process, were not what I expected. Quite an enigma, this one. Unlike the other devil.  Speaking of the other devil, we talked briefly about him on the drive back from the mall. I’d been under the impression that Leslie had known him, possibly worked with him, before ending up here, perhaps after the time period of my case; our chat confirmed this. And perhaps confirmed to Leslie that something had happened between him and me. Otherwise, it was a rather meandering conversation. I aired out my grievances about being a mere human used as a pawn in this world-spanning game of chess, and feeling small in the cosmic scale of it all. I was being genuine, but also looking to gauge Leslie’s reaction. And he said… “Small isn’t the first way I’d describe you.” I had to bite back a laugh. I always tended to belittle myself, I was aware. But to have a devil point it out to me so earnestly… Well, perhaps he meant my physicality. Which was more a result of genetics and necessity than anything else. Besides, the average height was taller where I came from. Being technically the tallest person among this staff had always felt strange to me. Perhaps I should’ve expressed better that I increasingly felt like physical strength was not as useful in the supernatural world as in the human world. Leslie must have his own set of powers, too. For one, he already managed to make me feel friendly towards him (again), despite fresh memories of him standing with the other devil during the ugly showdown after the GreenHaven heist. Perhaps I am being too bitter about all this. After all, said showdown eventually brought the most important person back to me. Things are not ideal right now, but we can work on it together. Together… Kal, a person so good-natured she seemed unreal at times, recently sent over a cake for the two of us; a classic recipe from our home city. As complicated as I feel about that place, nostalgic food is a simple comfort I cannot deny. Besides, Kal has attached a note that informs me of its magical property: consuming a third of it would make him fully awake in my mind for the next 30 minutes. It is a precious gift. There is much we need to talk about, our next steps, especially Kal’s suggestion of asking Jophiel for help. How I wish to just… spend time together. To look at his face in profile and take in the traces time and adversity have left on him.  Need to go to that gala and find that artifact.  I’d gladly give up my own existence in exchange for his, but… perhaps that wouldn’t please him. So this time, we’ll make it through. Together.