"Angel, can I see your phone?" Max asked casually, like he was asking to borrow a lighter.
Angel Dust paused mid–dramatic sprawl across the couch, one long leg hanging over the armrest. He blinked once, then twice, clearly trying to figure out if this was some kind of setup.
Then he grinned.
"Sure, why not?" Angel said, waggling his brows. "Finally gonna put your number in there, handsome? Took ya long enough."
He fluttered his lashes exaggeratedly as he handed the phone over, clearly enjoying himself way too much.
Max took it with a snort, already scrolling. "If I wanted your number, I'd already have it. You leave your phone unlocked like a menace to society."
"Privacy is for cowards," Angel shot back.
The moment Max started typing, the phone vibrated violently in his hand.
Then again.
And again.
And again.
The screen lit up in rapid succession with the same name, over and over, like a bad omen that refused to be ignored.
VALENTINO:Where the hell are you?
VALENTINO:You better not be ignoring me, Angel.
VALENTINO:I expect you in my suite NOW.
VALENTINO:Answer me.
VALENTINO:Angel.
Max's expression changed—not dramatically, not explosively—but in a way that made the air around him feel colder. His jaw tightened. His thumb hovered over the screen for half a second longer than necessary.
"…Man," Max muttered, voice low. "Your boss really needs to get off your ass."
Angel's grin faltered.
Just a little.
"Yeah, well," Angel said, trying to sound flippant as he leaned back again, arms folding behind his head. "Contract. Nothing I can do. Just ignore it."
Max glanced up at him.
Angel wasn't looking at the phone anymore.
He was staring at the ceiling.
Max didn't comment on that. Didn't push. Didn't lecture. He just finished typing, locked the phone, and handed it back.
Angel glanced down at the screen, then frowned.
"…Mr. White?" Angel read aloud. "Who the hell is this? Sounds like a knockoff villain name."
"The best meth cook in all of Hell," Max said simply, as if that explained everything. "He owes me a favor. Big one."
Angel stared at him.
"…You're serious."
"Dead serious," Max replied. "He'll hook you up with a discount. Cleaner stuff. Controlled supply. And if you decide to taper off, he'll help with that too."
Angel scoffed, but there was no bite to it. "Wow. I thought you were gonna drag me into a room, sit me down, and give me the whole 'you're worth more than this' redemption speech."
Max shrugged. "You already know that. Guilt doesn't work on you—it just makes you hide better. I'm not here to police you."
Angel studied him quietly for a long moment.
"…What's the catch?"
"You help Charlie. Actually help. Don't sabotage things when it gets uncomfortable. Don't disappear when someone needs you. That's it."
Angel opened his mouth with a joke already loaded.
Then stopped.
He looked down at the phone again. At Valentino's unread messages. At the new contact sitting quietly beneath them.
"…Yeah," Angel said finally, softer than usual. "Okay."
Max nodded once. "Good."
Angel stood, stretching, all the exaggerated swagger draining out of him like air from a punctured balloon. "I'm beat. Gonna crash."
He hesitated at the doorway, then added quietly, "Thanks. For not treating me like a lost cause."
Max didn't respond right away.
When he did, it was simple. "Night, Angel."
Angel slipped away down the hall, shoulders slumped, exhaustion clinging to him heavier than any vice.
Max exhaled slowly.
Only then did he feel how tired he really was.
He snapped his fingers, shapeshifting into soft pajamas with a quiet pop, shadows smoothing the fabric into something comfortable and warm. Without bothering with the stairs, he teleported straight to Charlie and Vaggie's room—
—and promptly collapsed face-first onto the floor.
A Few Minutes Later…
The bathroom door clicked open, steam drifting out as Charlie and Vaggie stepped into the bedroom in matching pajamas, towels draped over their shoulders.
They were mid-conversation.
"…and I'm just saying, if Pentious insists on sleeping upside down again, we need to install ceiling anchors—"
Vaggie stopped dead.
Charlie followed her gaze.
Razzle and Dazzle were in the middle of a valiant but deeply ineffective attempt to lift Max's unconscious body. One had his wrist. The other had his ankle. Both were flapping their tiny wings with all the strength they possessed.
Max did not budge.
"…Well," Vaggie muttered. "Didn't expect that."
The imps squeaked indignantly and tried harder.
Nothing.
Finally, they gave up and dropped Max with a soft thud.
Charlie rushed forward immediately. "Oh my gosh—help me lift him!"
"What? Charlie, he's huge—"
"Vaggie!"
With a great deal of effort, grunting, and one near-disastrous stumble, the two of them managed to awkwardly haul Max onto the bed like a pair of determined ants dragging a lion. He didn't stir, only letting out a small, tired noise and curling slightly on his side.
Vaggie wiped her brow. "Okay. That's… done."
She glanced at his shoulder and frowned. "I'm gonna change his bandages."
Charlie nodded, fluffing the pillows and adjusting Max's position so he was more comfortable. She was gentle—almost reverent—like she was afraid of waking him.
Vaggie carefully unwound the bandages around his right shoulder.
The cloth came away clean.
Too clean.
"…What the…?" Vaggie whispered.
Charlie turned instantly. "What? Is it bleeding? Is it worse than before?"
"No," Vaggie said slowly, leaning closer. "That's the weird part. There's no blood. And this wound is… wrong."
She brushed a fingertip near the sealed flesh, careful not to touch directly. "It's too smooth. Angelic weapons don't heal like this. Ever. They scar. They fester. They fight regeneration."
Charlie frowned but kept her voice calm. "Is he in danger?"
"No," Vaggie said after a moment. "But whatever he is… he's not normal. Even by Hell standards."
Charlie swallowed, then gently removed the rings from Max's hand, placing them carefully in the nightstand drawer like priceless artifacts.
"All I care about right now is that he's okay," she said softly. "We can ask him questions in the morning. Tonight… let's just make sure he doesn't regret collapsing in our room."
They settled him in, pulling the blanket up to his waist.
Then they climbed into bed themselves.
Neither of them slept.
After a long stretch of silence, Charlie whispered, "Still nervous around him?"
Vaggie hesitated. "I love him. I really do. But he's… strange. Innocent, almost. Like he skipped the part where Hell hardens you."
She swallowed. "Maybe we should ask Loona to look into his past. On Earth. Not to judge him—just to understand him."
Charlie nodded slowly. "Might help him too. Closure."
Vaggie's voice cracked just a little. "I'm scared, Charlie. If redemption is real… and he earns it… what if he leaves?"
Charlie squeezed her hand. "Then we'll face it together."
Max shifted in his sleep.
His wolf tail extended, longer and fluffier than before, curling instinctively around both women like a living blanket.
Vaggie froze. "Uh… this is new."
Charlie giggled softly, nestling into the warmth. "It's… really comfortable."
A low, content rumble came from Max's chest—almost a purr.
The tension eased.
The room grew quiet.
And slowly, peacefully, all three drifted off to sleep.