It’s not the same Beliel we left behind. He’s more weathered, beaten, and weary. Not to mention dried up, wingless, and bleeding. He breathes in a slow, painful rasp.

I see my surroundings in a way that my mind can’t quite comprehend right now. A white hand pushes through the open rear window. It grabs the flapping hellion and yanks it awkwardly through the window.

Behind us is an open truck bed full of confused and disoriented Watchers. Several of them look queasy as we bounce and swerve around debris.

Beyond the truck bed, a group of angels chases us through our plume of dust that spreads into the dawn sky. And is that my sister and her three scorpions flying beside us?

Shrinking in the distance is the dark shadow of the new aerie and its outer buildings. Before I can comprehend what I’m seeing, the windows of one of the outer buildings explode in a burst of fire and shattered glass.

The angels who had been chasing us stop, watching the fire. Then they circle back to the aerie to defend their home base from whatever is attacking.

The truck swerves left, then right, like the driver is drunk.

Beside me, I hear a cackling full of genuine joy. My mother is behind the wheel. She has a triumphant grin on her face as she glances over at me.

She looks back at the road just barely in time to swerve around an abandoned car. She must be going sixty miles per hour. That’s suicidal on these roads.

I push myself away from Beliel. I’d gotten used to seeing him with a fresh, hopeful face. Now he’s bleeding through his chest, ears, mouth, and nose. It’s hard to look at him, much less sit on his lap.

It’s awkward and dangerous holding my sword in such cramped quarters. I have to be careful in the swerving cab while putting the blade back into my scabbard.

‘Be careful, Mom,’ I say as she swerves again.

I crawl through the rear window and land in the standing-room-only open truck bed. There’s barely enough room for me, but I’m small enough that I can slip between two large warriors.

When I see their disoriented and drained faces, I don’t need to wonder why they’re not all airborne. Even the few who are flying hold on to the truck’s roll bar, looking like they need a little guidance. These guys clearly need a minute to adjust.

At this speed, the aerie is fast disappearing behind us.

‘Are you ready to go back and fight?’ It’s Josiah, the albino.

The Watchers answer with a general groan. It vaguely sounds like ‘yeah, okay’ if I’m being optimistic, ‘hell no’ if I’m not.